CHRISTOPHER 


GIFT  OF 
4 


/  S  o 


CHRISTOPHER 


LIONEL  JOSAPHARE 


PRIVATELY    PRINTED 
SAN  FRANCISCO 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 
LIONEL    JOSAPHARE 


ACT  I 
ACT  II 
ACT  III 
ACT  IV 
ACT  V 


page  7 
24 
37 
46 
59 


451762 


CHRISTOPHER 


CHRISTOPHER 


BOHANOC,  the  king. 

EDAMIA,  queen. 

ATARAGON,   daughter   of   Bohanoc   and   former   queen ; 

priestess. 

SEBASTIAN,  onetime  pretender  to  the  throne. 
CHRISTOPHER,  distant  cousin  of  Bohanoc. 
SIR  JOHN,  Christopher's  tutor. 
ABYMELIG,  a  blind  man. 
GREGORIUS,  member  of  the  palace  guard. 
WINIFRED,  servant  in  Christopher's  house. 
BEELZEBUB,  a  negro  slave. 


ACT  I,    Scene  I.    A  roadside. 
CHRISTOPHER  and  JOHN. 

John.     Gone,  elegantly  gone;  yet  gone.     The  sun 

Is  buried  in  the  west.     With  pompous  funeral 

And  colors  bearing  almost  into  music, 

This  bauble  of  the  sky  goes  out.     I  say  it 

Upon  mine  honor,  while  to  my  discredit, 

That  hour  by  hour,  patience  relieving  patience, 

Like  sentry  taking  weary  sentry's  watching, 

Yourself,  myself,  remained  here  through  all  changes. 

From  the  highest  overhanging  of  the  orb 

In  the  pinnacle  of  day,  then  cloud  to  cloud 

Unto  its  golden  disappearance,  we 

Have  lagged  beneath,  like  drink-disabled  louts, 


Unfit  to  leave;  and  no  Ataragon 

Or  princess  found  by  any  other  name, 

Has  come  to  kiss  us  in  desire,  clap  hands 

With  us  in  glee,  or  smite  our  faces 

In  woman's  wrath  for  doubting  her  approach. 

Chr.     Here  too  my  expectation  held  high  noon; 

Sets  now  in  crimson  and  calamity. 

Here  do  I  sink  in  darkness. 

John.  I  esteem 

The  fool  intoxicated  with  his  folly; 

But  him  in  stupor  with  expected  sweets, 

Drunken  with  emptiness  and  air — not  I. 

Chr.     O  idiot  me!     Despicable  supplicant, 

Whose  drunken  dreams  and  colored  fantasies 

He  can  suck  from  an  empty  bottle. 

John.  Furthermore — 

Chr.     Ah,  now  comes  Furthermore. 

John.  The  haunting  truth, 

Persistent  and  intolerable  ghost, 

Standing  before  thee  till  thou  darest  look. 

Still,  Christopher,  he  who  reveals  the  truth 

Is  much  reviled  as  if  he  had  created  it. 

Chr.     Such  truth  as  now  congeals  within  illusion 

And  points  its  finger  sharply,  would  be  null 

And  powerless  to  jeer  me,  were  thy  hand 

As  powerful  as  kind. 

John.     As  optimist  of  heavenly  movements,  I 

Foreboded  that  the  sun,  in  the  formalities 

Of  day,  and  punctually  thereto,  would  set. 

As  pessimist  of  woman's  promises, 

The  more  particularly  Ataragon"s, 

I  had  divined  that  this  divinity, 

According  to  her  nature  and  performance, 

Would  not  astonish  thee  by  keeping  her  word. 

Chr.     Thou  speakest  well  to  one  grown  sick  of  speech. 

John.     Dost  thou  acknowledge  that  the  sun  hath  set? 

Chr.     No,  no!     It  is  not  set.     Ataragon 

Engaged  her  presence  ere  the  set  of  sun. 

She  has  not  come ;  the  sun  has  not  yet  gone. 

John.     Or,  take  my  version  of  it;  sun  has  gone; 


Ataragon  was  here;  has  gone. 

Chr.  Perchance  'tis  true. 

So  twisted,  rankled  are  my  thoughts,  I  know  not 

Whether  or  not  I  saw  her. 

John.  Damned  the  woman 

That  has  done  this  for  thee !     A  host  of  curses 

On  her  who  in  her  devilish  excess 

Could  bring  damnation  on  a  host  of  hells. 

Chr.     O  master  mine !     Would  that  a  roaring  lion 

And  not  thyself  had  told  me  this. 

John.  Softly ! 

Contrive ;  nor  make  me,  who  am  not  in  love, 

As  mad  as  thee.     Forgive  this  weak,  old  man 

That  he's  dismayed  in  sight  of  thy  disorder. 

Oh,  wert  thou  mad,  I  could  weep  moderately; 

But  seeing  sanity  in  madman's  chains 

Is  past  all  sane  deploring.     Wert  thou  mad, 

Imagining  thyself  a  king  or  demi-god, 

I  could  admire  the  noble  action  of  it; 

But  when  thou  crouchest  like  a  nondescript, 

Puling  from  sky  to  earth,  peopling  the  sunlight 

With  nullities  and  nightmares  of  the  moon, 

The  prodigy  makes  me  a  frenzied  watchman. 

Chr.     With  some  incontrovertible  breath  or  beauty, 

She  has  blown  madness  in  my  face;  brought  me 

To  see  within  myself  a  wretch  demented, 

And  that  misguided  monster  to  behold 

A  more  disheveled  maniac  within  him; 

Even  he  to  find  still  more  preposterous  inmate. 

She's  made  me  glory-gazer,  penitent, 

King,  coward,  slave,  a  medley  of  things  human. 

John.     That  is  not  lunacy;  your  head's  become 

A  very  madhouse  for  the  lunatics. 

Chr.     With  each  of  her  bewildering  antics  came 

Another  madman. 

John.  What  infernal  wine 

Must  she  dote  on  for  drink,  that,  brain  to  brain, 

She  sends  these  false,  mad,  damned  enormities. 

All  unforgettable  and  all  as  false 

That  should  be  never  known. 


10 


Chr.     How  oft,  in  dire  constraint,  must  I  forget  her 

That  still  must  I  laboriously  forget? 

How  oft  must  I  perceive  her  falsity 

Ere  she  stands  false  in  my  complete  perception? 

John.     Earth  which  created  mouths  to  tell  such  tale 

And  voices  gasping  with  such  thirsty  sorrow, 

Must  hide  somewhere  a  cup  to  solace  it. 

Chr.     Ye  buccaneers  in  ships  of  gold  that  sail 

The  grisly  and  amazing  seas  for  plunder, 

From  some  enraptured  shore,  where  sorcery 

Is  common  to  alleviate  the  bosom 

As  here  to  send  it  pain,  demand  for  me 

A  vial  of  consolation. 

John.  This  outlandish  boon 

Is  for  a  far-fetched  need.     'Tis  all  unreal. 

'Tis  neither  here  nor  there  nor  anywhere 

Within  yourself.     'Tis  like  Ataragon: 

When  she  comes  not,  she's  not,  for  the  time  being. 

To  thee  not  now,  now  she  is  not.     She's  naught 

To  thee.     Why  let  that  naught  still  make  thee  nothing? 

Chr.     But  when  this  nothing  holds  that  nothing  near, 

Theri's  all  in  all. 

John.  And  I  say  thou  art  what  thou  art, 

And  always  able,  be  she  here  or  there. 

Chr.     'Twixt  here  and  there,  wherever  they  may  be, 

My  thoughts  go  hither  thither.     The  uncertainty 

Of  her  forthcoming  and  her  goings  forth 

Have  my  thoughts  never  still. 

John.  Well  then,  it's  that. 

She  who  gives  you  uncertainty  gives  you 

The  worst  thing  in  the  world,  for  it  presents 

All  other  outrages.     Be  it  then  so. 

Ataragon,  by  running  up  your  score 

Of  evil  thoughts,  must,  in  her  own  devices, 

Have  that  same  score  of  evils  for  so  doing. 

Have  we  heard  of  Sebastian? 

Chr.  Burn  Sebastian 

Not  near  the  blazes  of  my  meditations. 

John.     Why  is  she  not  with  you?     The  Why  is  where 

She  is. 


11 


Chr.  The  apprehension  of  that  thing 

More  violent  is  than  apprehended  evil, 

Which  must  be  seen  to  be  frightful.     Comes  a  fear, 

A  deadly  marvel,  felt,  invisible, 

Which  men  call  jealousy,  and  while  disdaining 

To  own,  are  owned  by  it;  unsightly  venom, 

With  reptile  body  and  a  rival's  head, 

Touches  the  skin,  and  all  our  inward  feels  it. 

Oh,  that  this  precious  tower,  undermined, 

Should  tremble  at  the  bite  of  such  a  worm. 

John.     When  that  worm  crawls,  'tis  on  the  corpse  of  love 

Buried  and  nevermore  to  smile.     Love  cometh 

With  the  gift  of  a  flower.     Such  the  symbol  of  it: 

A  flowerlike  and  fading  ecstacy. 

Of  such  same  natural  discontinuance 

Is  all  that  love  and  women  give. 

Chr.  So  might 

With  us,  the  flowers  and  the  fragrance  die, 

The  passion  and  the  wonders  pass,  in  vain, 

With  quietude  increasing  till  despair 

Has  lost  its  desperation,  but  there  comes 

A  vision  more  and  more  distinctive,  grinning, 

Of  an  ape  that  clasps  in  his  lascivious  mixtures 

The  angel  of  our  sweeter  lust. 

John.     And  yet  there's  worse  condition  mingled  with  it: 

That  thou  wouldst  wed  this  disappointing  princess, 

Be  husband  of  her  curious  absences, 

And  feed  on  those  delinquencies  forever. 

Chr.     I  shall  survive.     My  groans  are  shorter  now. 

John.     Survive  thou  long  enough,  and  thou  shalt  hear 

Groans  from  each  good  and  vicious  fellow-man. 

Chr.     I  do  exult  thereat,  but  not  at  length.     My  laughter 

Snaps  in  the  middle.     Ha!     Such  sympathy, 

Onlooking  with  a  supercilious  Ha! — 

Or  haply  double  note — Ha,  ha;  yet  goes 

Not  thrice  with  ha,  ha,  ha  in  fluency. 

John.     Twice  blest  is  he  whose  house  of  joy's  beginning, 

Can  yet  reserve  a  room  for  joyous  end. 

There,  when  the  guest  has  gone,  her  memory 

May  sleep  in  sentiment,  and,  sleeping,  dream 


12 

In  repetition  of  those  dancing  hours 

That  else  would  rave  in  desperate  finality. 

For  beauty  is  a  wandering  goddess,  that 

Slips  from  one  lover  to  allure  the  next, 

And  him  beguiles  to  signal  with  another. 

Chr.     How  unimportant  we  become ! 

John.  There  is 

A  time  she'll  run  to  thee ;  a  time  she'll  flee. 

Her  laughter's  here  and  elsewhere;  not  all  thine. 

Chr.     Oh,  I  could  vomit  up  my  soul  for  sorrow. 

John.     Break  not  abruptly  so.     Come!     Christopher, 

There  is  a  princess  of  the  lonely  hills. 

She  hath  a  softer  hand.     True,  'tis  not  human ; 

Yet  on  the  forehead  slowly  may  it  soothe 

Him  who  has  found  the  human  touch  too  cruel. 

Her  breath  contains  no  kiss;  yet  it  may  whisper 

A  tale  of  more  prevailing  fantasy, 

With  vaster  contemplation  and  an  air 

To  dim  the  multiplicities  of  man 

Below;  or,  gaze  thou  on  them  and  forgive. 

In  solitude  awhile,  seek  thou  the  slopes. 

Mayhap  this  airy  love  awaits  you  there. 

ACT  I.     Scene  2.    Before  the  Temple  of  A  tar  agon. 
ABYMELIG  and  JOHN. 

Abym.     Yonder  the  rebel  chief,  now  separate  king, 

Has  camped  his  heroes,  fierce,  war-belching  men, 

That  stink  with  the  corruption  of  tomorrow. 

John.     How  points  your  arm,  with  sightless  eyes  behind? 

Abym.  ^  I  feel  the  horizontal  sun.     The  west 

Is  red  in  the  sky,  once  known  to  me. 

Beneath  it  flow  the  bloody  purposes 

Of  this  rebellion. 

John.     Here's  war,  a  hideous  patch  for  Christopher. 

Abym.     You  came  here  yesterday? 

John.  Yesterday  o'er  the  hill, 

With  daylight's  coming. 

Abym.     You'll  see  some  glory  here,  and  on  this  field 


13 


Behold  what  you  have  read  in  books  before. 

John.     Who  are  you,  sir,  that  know  these  things? 

Abym.     I  am  a  clown.     The  world's  a  laughing  matter; 

First  laugh  at  it,  and  then  you'll  understand  it. 

It's  comical,  I  tell  you,  comical, 

When  one's  good  fortune  is  to  be  a  clown. 

John.     A  clown?     Why,  sir,  a  clown,  a  clown, 

I  wot  as  some  most  captivating  jack, 

A  loud,  rebounding,  skipping  bladder  of  fun, 

A  loose-limbed,  scarlet-tufted  fellow; 

And  motley  clowns  are  good,  with  smirk  and  smatter, 

As  clownish  goes.     But  none  of  them  wear  black. 

Abym.     True,  I'm  in  black.     'Tis  mourning  for  the  death 

Of  good  comedians,  your  best  philosophers. 

There  be  some  who  debate  on  sorry  stuff ; 

I  perpetrate  such  deeds  as  make  more  laughing; 

Hence,  more  comedians  and  philosophy. 

John.     A  blind  man's  deeds!     Methinks  he  goes 

With  prodding  stick  before  him,  thump,  thump,  thump; 

And,  cracking  not  his  noddle,  is  content. 

Abym.     Deeds  done  by  other  men,  who'll  die  adoing, 

And  make  the  world  wear  black,  so  I  may  be 

In  fashion. 

John.  Hm !     Most  egotistic! 

I  deem  you,  sir,  unable  for  such  crimes, 

Lacking  grace  more  than  licking  up  dishonor. 

How  oft  intrepid  Fancy  routs  its  foes, 

And  pushes  murder  down  the  hill  of  dreams. 

Yet  there  shall  be  no  war  for  Christopher; 

He  is  too  mild  and  unrelated  to  it. 

Abym.     You  pedagogued  him,  did  you? 

John.  Holding  his  hand, 

I  led  his  lovely  infant  wantonness 

To  boyhood'  castles ;  the  questioning  boy, 

To  youth's  romantic  hillsides  and  the  hunt; 

His  youth,  to  heroism  in  the  practice 

Of  battles,  governments  and  present  manners. 

Abym.     Here  is  a  government  and  manner  of  it: 

Yon  temple,  Heaven's  front,  is  now  in  danger; 

Which  tells  that  there  is  war  'twixt  Heaven  and  Hell, 


14 


And  every  man  of  merit  must  engage 
As  angel  or  as  devil.     We,  the  Druids, 
Will  range  the  battle  for  our  favorites. 
John.     Are  there  still  Druids  here? 


.,  Within  these  paths 

Men  still  have  wonder  for  the  tree  whose  fruit 
And  fascination  they  did  eat  when  Druids 
Ruled  in  the  forest. 

{olrin'  But  King  Bohanoc 

Worships  the  God  that  hath  no  other  gods. 
Abym      We  may  be  slaves  to  what  we  do  not  worship. 
bo  Bohanoc  defends  his  daughter's  temple. 
John.     War  is  excusable  in  avarice 
Of  what  we  see;  the  earth  and  coinage  of  it; 

But  slaying  for  the  sake  of  the  unseen, 

Breaking  heads  in  the  interests  of  infinity, 

Is  vulgar  motion  toward  resplendent  Nature: 

Rolling  the  eyes  in  the  name  of  rolling  daylight, 

Frothing  at  mouth  in  honor  of  the  clouds. 

Abym.     Hush!     For  Ataragon  may  hear  your  slander. 

Hush  !     For  her  pride  is  a  quick-tempered  realm 

Where  unbelievers  are  not  recognized 

As  haying  rights  to  their  own  heads.     Knowest  thou 

Decapitation  is  a  cure  for  pig-headedness? 

John.     Would  I  were  citizen  of  some  free  air, 

A  green  metropolis,  taxed  by  only  sun; 

In  daylight's  pageantry  distinct,  and  fearful 

Of  no  more  than  the  tempest's  wild  intrigues. 

I  hate  death's  guide-posts  visible  hereby. 

Quick  and  impulsive  am  I  for  return 

To  fragrant  sods,  far  from  the  towns;  to  die 

'Neath  Heaven's  will,  not  man's  impertinence. 

Abym.     In  time  of  war  there  is  no  going  hence, 

Save  home  where  spade  is  key. 

J°hn.  Yet  we  will  go, 

If  there  was  ever  going  in  this  country. 

Abym.     The  world's  at  war,  and  has  been  since  the  time 

There  were  two  kings  to  hate  each  other. 

John.  Aye  ! 

So  let  them  hate  unretinued  with  others 


15 


That  love  one  king  to  hate  the  other's  lovers. 
Alas  that  man  has  dictum  o'er  man's  life! 
Here  shall  we  lag  no  more.     No,  Christopher! 
'Twas  error  lured  him  here  to  see  the  world, 
When  world  he  had,  and  this  is  sickness  of  it. 
O  read  upon  this  door!  (They  turn  toward  the  Temple.} 

Abym.   (as  if  reading}.     "Death  welcomes  him  who  comes  un 
welcome  here." 
Yea ;  it  is  death  to  pass  the  door  unsummoned. 

(Enter  CHRISTOPHER  and  two  armed  COMRADES.) 

John.     Tarry  not  here,  my  son ;  we  must  return 

Unto  our  studies  and  the  natural  fields. 

This  is  too  dark  a  place.     The  peace  of  kingdoms 

Is  too,  too  gashed  with  frights  for  your  young  soul 

To  meddle  with. 

Chr.  Man  will  be  meddlesome. 

We  have,  like  two  flat  figures  in  a  book, 

Lived  in  the  parchment  and  the  narrative. 

Now  from  the  page  we  spring,  to  gaze  on  scenes 

Of  thick  reality.     We  have  been  shaded. 

Now  glows  the  sun  of  conflict  in  our  eyes. 

Let's  dazzled  be  but  not  dismayed. 

John.  O  Christopher, 

How  flushed,  how  changed,  how  grown  calamitous 

Near  sudden  danger  and  its  dismal  front! 

As  horror  oft  enchants  the  arms  to  clasp 

That  which  the  legs  might  well  be  fearful  under. 

Chr.     There  is  a  rat  running  through  the  universe, 

Trailing  o'er  cheese  and  sentiment.     I've  seen 

Marks  of  his  feet:  the  rat's  foot  on  the  cake. 

Sebastian's  here.     These  men  are  trapping  for  him. 

Upon  the  moment,  rat  and  universe 

Attract  me  not.     I  am  alone  today. 

First  Comrade.     Ours  is  an  errand  benefiting  all 

Save  one,  Sebastian ;  and  that  vile  "save  one" 

Is  now  within  the  temple  and  our  way. 

Abym.     Avaunt!     The  busy  ministers  of  death 

Have  nobler  work  than  cutting  your  fool  throats. 


16 


Ply  them  for  no  such  workmanship. 

5".  Com.     We  too  are  workmen  with  a  terrible  stroke. 

Rebellion's  on  the  block.     Sebastian  is  it 

That  must  be  done  for  first,  or  else  he  lives 

In  treason's  last  resort  and  refuge — loyalty. 

Abym.     He  downed  his  own  rebellion,  and  pretends 

No  more  to  the  royal  gear.     As  I  know  truth, 

He's  true.     Ne'er  was  more  honesty  than  this: 

The  new  Sebastian  bids  farewell  to  the  old. 

Chr.     The  new  Sebastian,  like  a  wounded  crow, 

Hops  from  the  scene,  pecking  hope's  hollow  grains. 

The  same  Sebastian  that  pretended  king 

Would  wed  the  princess  and  pretend  the  prince, 

Pretend  a  lover  and  pretend  my  better. 

Abym.     He  trades    a   hopeless  cause   for   hope.     Well   traded! 

John.     This  with  Ataragon? 

S.  Com.     Forsooth  in  the  Pretender  is  a  throne 

To  which  this  wondrous  girl  pretended  long. 

And  long  ago  did  she  begin  the  match, 

Wooing  Sebastian  in  emergency, 

Sending  him  love  and  rich  conditions  on  it. 

Abym.     This  is  not  in  your  scrutiny.     Beware! 

F.  Com.     I  take  no  man's  Beware. 

S.  Com.     Beware  is  invitation  to  my  hand. 

Abym.     Behind  the  temple  doors,  watchmen,  whose  eyes 

Glitter  eternally  as  the  altar  lights, 

Seize  the  intruder,  fasten  him  to  judgment, 

And  penalty  resounds  upon  the  word. 

John.     Beware  a  moment,  my  strange  gentlemen. 

Let's  heed  this  marvelous  man.     His  head  may  be 

The  haunt  of  matters  wrongful  to  our  mind 

Yet  usual  here. 

Abym.     The  door  is  lettered.  'Tis  a  sentence  passed 

Upon  those  passing  under.     It  is  death. 

John.     What  words  are  these!     The  secret  of  this  place 

Has  taken  root  within  my  lively  heart, 

And  filled  my  sky  with  its  unflinching  branches. 

I  do  beseech  you,  friends,  you'll  heed  this  man. 

Misfortune's  here.     Such  prepossessions,  boasts, 

Professions,  what  they  are,  condign  or  null, 


17 


Quite  overcome  me.     I  know  not  the  part, 

Abymelig,  you  play  in  this. 

Abym.  I  am, 

Sir,  as,  in  all  true  sadness,  one  might  say, 

A  clown;  and  at  my  farce  will  worthy  men 

Yet  laugh;  or  weep,  I  care  not. 

F.  Com.     Shall  we  go  in  and  wait  no  more  this  row? 

S.  Com.     I'll  not  turn  back;   alarms  are  now  too  late. 

F.  Com.     Enter  we  then. 

S.  Com.     Come,  if  you  dare  this  door. 

I'll  in,  though  horror  shake  its  nearest  floor. 

(The  door  opens;  ATARAGON  appears.) 

Atar.    Are  you  not  filled  with  the  warning  overhead, 

That  you  gaze  in  so  greedily? 

S.  Com.    We  hunger  for  the  treachery  within. 

Atar.     Let  me  not  hinder  you. 

(Comrades  enter  temple.) 

Abym.     Thy  words,  O  princess,  are  yet  things  of  power. 

Atar.     Peel  praise  off  thy  performance,  and  go  in. 

Abym.     They  came  to  kill  Sebastian.     (Enters  temple.) 

Chr.     She  sees  me  not,  while  all  I  ever  saw 

Is  there  to  tell  me  that  I've  lost  it  all. 

John.     She  will  speak. 

Chr.     How  like  a  wraith,  too  lightsome  for  thin  raiment, 

As  from  a  superstitious  climate  grown, 

She  seems  without  earth's  heavy  element. 

Her  cheeks  with  dreams  more  than  with  life  are  hued, 

For  me,  with  dreams  more  than  with  life  imbued. 

Atar.     Hast  thou  address  for  me? 

Chr.     To  thee  I  once  addressed  my  eternal  soul. 

Then  didst  thou  leave  me  pleading  and  appalled. 

No  child  was  e'er  more  frightened  in  the  night 

Than  I  within  the  dark  of  lone  desire. 

I  said  "forget";   and,  trying  thus  to  starve 

Amid  the  rage  and  plenties  of  remembrance, 

Ever  unto  the  loveliest  smile  returned, 


18 


Moaning  the  flavors  of  thy  kiss,  as  if 

My  lips  did  long  for  the  one  purple  cherry 

Brilliantly  hanging  in  a  dingy  world. 

Afar.     Thou'st  fallen  from  the  touches  of  our  love, 

Embraced  dissension  and  embraved  thy  comrades 

Against  the  life  of  him  who  loves  us  dearly. 

Chr.     Pardon,  Ataragon,  duty  to  the  utmost 

Has  been  in  all  my  thoughts  enduring  here. 

Atar.     Yet  the  especial  traits  by  which  Sebastian 

Should  be  confirmed  as  kindred  are  not  in  you. 

Chr.     Possessed  with  your  divinities,  you  ignore 

The  widespread  hate  against  Sebastian. 

Your  wedding  music  would  as  carnage  be 

Among  the  people's  hearts. 

Atar.  And  you  commend  his  murder ; 

As  to  bereave  me  ere  I  have  espoused; 

Preventing  widow's  tears  by  emptying 

The  bridal  eyes;  avoiding  widowhood 

By  slaying  the  hero. 

Chr.     My  treason  is  disclaiming  him  called  traitor 

A  month  ago.     My  hatred  for  him  goes 

A  month  too  far. 

Atar.     'Tis  never  far  from  man  to  taunt  a  woman. 

Chr.     Yet  least  of  crimes  against  her  is  to  save 

The  mystery  of  her  music  from  discordance, 

Though  she  invited  the  curst  thing's  approach. 

Atar.     Explain  thyself. 

Chr.  There  are  words  pardonable 

And  words  unpardonable.     Therefore  I 

Exemption  ask  from  further  mention  of  it. 

Atar.     I  am  desirous  for  your  answer  to  it. 

Chr.     My  thoughts  are  sacred,  erring  though  they  be. 

If  not  expressed,  I  hold  them  safe  in  me. 

Atar.     He  who  amazes  and  will  not  explain, 

Has  mouth  for  bubbles  and  froth  for  his  brain. 

Chr.     Let  me  be  that. 

What  I  had  thought  was  nothing;  not  a  part 

Of  sense;  to  nonsense  even  poor  relation. 

Atar.     Have  done  with  nothing,  and  begin  with  something. 

Chr.     I  should  withhold  it  yet. 


19 


Atar.     Still  wreathing  thy  refusals? 

What  infamous  fancy  am  I  bending  over? 

Base  lookings-in  o'er  what  sebaceous  pool 

Is  my  beholding  of  your  mind  withheld? 

Chr,     There  is  a  time  when  candor  utterly  stops 

Before  the  listening  precipice. 

Atar.     Holloa,  my  patience  and  extortion,  ho! 

Chr.     What  would  you  have  me  do? 

Atar.     Speak  out!     Adjure  thee ! 

Chr.     The  woeful  and  unpardonable  words 

'Gainst  woman  is  in  declaration 

That  she  did  first  put  forth  the  affectionate  hand, 

Wooing  the  wooer  ere  he  did  essay, 

Devised  the  journey  and  showed  him  the  way. 

Atar.     And  this  uncouthness  is  clapped  unto  me? 

Chr.     Rumor  is  running  that  you  wooed  Sebastian 

Into  love's  manners,  warily  to  mend 

The  kingdom's  tumult;  and  the  credit  is 

'Twas  more  the  tumult  of  your  heart  was  quelled 

Than  government's  defection. 

Atar.     Thou  shalt  be  judged. 

(Enter   KING   BOHANOC    and   QUEEN    EDAMIA;    GREGORIUS    and 
attendants.} 

Boh.     A  moment  of  reflection  ere  hot  war 

Hacks  at  our  breasts  to  cut  our  loves  away. 

As  an  adventurous  man,  returned  at  home, 

Grows  mournful-captious  o'er  his  idle  strain, 

So  doth  a  kingdom,  with  reflexive  health, 

Cark  o'er  its  peace  and  chide  the  careful  hours. 

Congested  fury  turns  upon  itself 

And  gluts  in  the  havoc  of  incivilities. 

There  will  be  some  blood-letting  in  this  place. 

Bedevilled  sportsmen  now  hunt  for  our  lives. 

The  crown  sleeps  with  its  jewels;  helmet  bronze 

Gleams  where  the  golden  turret  once  pressed  our  brows. 

Unto  your  temple  for  eventful  prayers, 

We  come,  my  daughter.     Christopher,  my  captain, 

Tap  at  your  sword  and  bid  it  ready  be. 


20 


Atar.    This  visitor,  who  comes  in  jumbled  hour, 

I  find  obnoxious.     Him  I  shall  condemn 

With  his  two  comrades  captive  now  within. 

Boh.     What  has  he  done? 

Atar.  It  will  be  told. 

Boh.     Much  I  discomfort  at  these  novelties 

Proceeding.     When  the  very  air  is  full 

Of  magic,  juggling,  black-art  pantomime, 

Surprise  abounding,  then  my  spirit  falls, 

And  all  the  view  seems  to  have  the  falling  sickness. 

Atar.     Bring  hither  those  within. 

(The  two  COMRADES  are  brought  out,  bound.} 

Remark  them  now, 

These  two  are  the  difference  when  the  sum  of  good 
From  good  and  evil  is  subtracted :  creatures 
Left  over  and  malign.     Gaping  with  grudge, 
Forewarned  yet  heedless  of,  with  swords  exprest, 
The  whilst  I  kept  at  door,  they  sought  Sebastian 
To  kill; 

As  this  outswaggering  cousin  stood  me  here, 
Thrust  at  my  soul  with  man's  most  mockery, 
To  that — no  more.     Come  forth,  ye  heinous  two. 
You  have  engaged  in  sinister  exploit. 
The  remedy  is  death. 
Boh.     Let  us  be  economical  with  life, 
And  mellow  in  decree,  ere  yet  the  mood 
Forsakes  all  gentle  opportunity; 
As  being  kind  to  the  ill-wandering  foe 
May  give  the  vulgar  sort  some  wise  resolve, 
Knowing  we  are  not  always  cruel. 
Edam.  Yes,  Ataragon. 

Although  I   am  your  mother  in  love  only, 
Unwarranted  in  flesh  and  blood,  unsealed 
With  native  wax,  see,  your  parental  king 
Shares  all  his  greatness  with  me.     Give  thou  me, 
As  to  him,  fond  respect  for  this  entreaty. 
Let  me  be  orator  for  these  intruders. 
Give  them  the  franchise  of  their  beating  hearts 


21 


To  tell  their  brethren.     In  these  burning  days, 

A  finer  temper  may  come  to  the  minds 

That  now  are  testy. 

Atar.  Be  there  a  drop  of  pity 

Or  affectation  of  it  in  my  blood, 

I'll  use  it  for  your  sakes,  and,  using, 

Do  use  it  up.     Go  tell  your  fellows  now, 

Ataragon  did  have  such  pitiful  drop, 

And  that  you've  had  it.     Now  I  am  sheer  of  it. 

Depart. 

(They  are  unbound;  exeunt.} 

So  then,  thou  scandalous  Christopher, 
I  shall  not  take  a  kinsman's  noble  life. 
All  else  I  take  from  thee. 
Edam.  What  is  his  crime? 

He  ever  looked  sincere. 

Atar.  That  was  his  crime. 

Chr.     These  men  assailed  thy  promised  punishment. 
I  brooked  thy  vanity,  thy  less  than  little. 
Forgive  me  for  this  little  erringness, 
That  has  a  huge  repentance. 

Atar.     Thou  dost  not  plead   as  shrewdly  as  thou  railest; 
And  for  the  falsehood  thou  hast  sounded  here, 
So  shalt  thy  life  resound  with  answers  false 
To  thy  requirements.     Gone  be  all  thy  titles; 
Thy  name  be  stricken  from  rewards  and  honors. 
Dark  be  thy  days  on  earth,  and  cold  thy  fireside. 
Dead  be  the  heavenly  tree  that  flourishes 
With  thy  hereafter.     Let  its  fruits  drop  tasteless. 
Black  writ  on  black  thy  total  history. 
John.     O  my  poor  boy,  now  poor  art  thou  indeed. 
Chr.     If  I  be  made  a  slave,  I'll  be  a  good  one. 
John.     Fool,  remember  thy  glory. 
Boh.     What  you  have  done  I  have  no  certainty, 
Yet  certain  am  her  judgment  is  of  justice. 
Chr.     My  king,  I  quaffed  from  thy  hospitable  cup 
And  bit  as  soon  the  souring  stone  in  vain. 
Not  all  in  disappointment,  I  do  not 
Reject  the  deeds  whose  honors  are  not  mine. 
Hope's  fruits,  that  rotted  ere  the  ripening  time, 


22 


I  cast  away,  and,  with  some  patience  yet, 

Against  the  truculence  of  this  day,  hurl 

The  melancholy  challenge  of  my  love. 

Edam.     What  hero  could  say  more,  after  his  nibbling 

Of  roses  sugared  for  a  farewell  feast? 

(to  A  tar  agon}   How  dost  thou,  daughter?     May  there  come  a 

time 

To  ponder  up  less  penalty? 
Atar.     I  swear  by  the  imperishable  good 
That  never  will  I  measure  this  again. 
If  him  I  e'er  should  meet  with  tenderness 
Or  like  of  slipping  welcome,  may  Hell's  mouth 
Open  and  suck  me  smoking  in. 

Edam.  Shame  standing  naked  without  shame 

Were  not  as  reckless. 

Atar.     Now  let  us  in  to  prayers,  and  work  the  sky 
That  this  distressful  country  never  part 
Its  emblematic  powers.     Our  Sebastian  is 
Henceforth  our  pledge,  ourself,  and  will  with  us 
Dart  at  the  copious  rebels,  to  make  blood 
Drip  in  the  damned  outside  of  monarchy. 
Edam,   (to  Chr.}     Bold  man,  that  under  bolder  penalty 
Bows  now  his  head,  let  not  thy  grief  go  forth 
Without  the  tear  of  one  grief-sharing  eye. 
Within  thy  misery,  hold  one  good  wish, 
Thy  queen's. 

Chr.     With  daily  recollection,  that  good  wish 
Will  be  lifelong  abundance. 
Edam.     Dear  Bohanoc,  I  cannot  go  to  prayer 
So  soon  after  the  hearing  of  a  curse. 
Boh.     A  king  can  pray  alone. 

(  BOHANOC,   ATARAGON   and   attendants   enter   temple.     EDAMIA, 
with  attendants,  remains  on  steps  of  temple.} 

Edam,    (looking  toward  Christopher}.     So  fair  a  forehead  for 

so  foul  a  curse! 

How  gallant  in  humility  he  stands, 
Like  the  war-horse  decked  for  patriarchal  fray, 
Like  the  entrancing  stallion,  mystic-eyed, 


23 


Breathing  of  Heaven,  fronting  revelation. 

Edamia,  the  whom,  no  whit  the  less, 

Honor  still  boasts  as  child,  has  yet  such  hand 

As  fain  would  on  his  patient  shoulder  lie. 

What  more  than  sympathy  begins  in  me 

That  him  would  take  aside  as  fellow  fellow? 

This  exquisite  nuisance  in  my  breast!     O  breast, 

Thou  hast  no  eyes!     Within  the  darksome  cloak, 

Why  dost  thou  tremble  as  to  see  his  plight? 

My  own  eyes,  turn  away.     You  must  not  see, 

Nor  hold  the  head  agrieving  more  than  he.  (****) 


24 

ACT  IL     Court  yard  of  Palace. 
GREGORIUS  and  ABYMELIG. 

Greg.     Never  was  blindness  deeper  gloom,  Abymelig, 

Than  yesterday,  the  climax  of  all  eyesight. 

And  yet  each  glimpse  was  almost  losing  sight, 

So  hot  was  the  beholding  of  the  battle. 

Abym.     I  thought  I  almost  saw,  so  loud  it  was. 

My  ears  did  laugh  back  in  excess  of  hearing. 

Tell  me,  Gregorius. 

Greg.     The  deathly  fever  never  pulsed  as  high, 

And  white  lips  never  were  as  many.     God ! 

The  ardent,  scarlet  perfume  of  men's  lives 

Did  gurge  throughout  the  battle's  front  and  rear 

In  the  huge  celebration  of  their  hate. 

Rebels  and  king  never  in  as  short  a  time 

Emptied  as  many  astonished  hearts,  making 

The  day  at  noon  with  blood  dawn  red  again. 

Abym.     These  rebels  peopled  up  their  Kingdom  Come 

To  make  a  kingdom  go.     Give  more,  Gregorius. 

Greg.     The  king  and  Christopher — 

Abym.     Still  is  it  Christopher? 

Greg.     Aye,  for  his  battle-axe  beside  the  king's 

Did  excellent  parallel.     The  king, 

Though  pulled  and  parleyed  by  his  ministers, 

Had  cursed  them  to  the  plagues,  and  sought  the  density 

Of  war,  and  fought  as  'twere  the  rousing  heart 

Of  war,  more  than  a  paltry  human  thing, 

He  would  rip  open — Christopher  at  his  side; 

And  seemed  the  two  trained  from  rejoicing  youth 

To  do  the  work  together.     Then  all  changed, 

And  Christopher  pushed  further  in  the  fray, 

Amid  the  weapons  lost  as  in  a  forest; 

There  did  his  axe  construct  a  field  of  ruin. 

Axe?     No;  a  dragon;  to  and  fro  its  head, 

Whose  convulsed  angers,  with  continuous  lappings, 

Took  breasts  and  throats.     Once  he  was  backward  pressed, 


25 


But  with  each  added  backward  step  subtracted 

One  from  his  pressers,  till  he  gained  his  ground; 

And  all  that  followed  then  were  in  the  stains 

Upon  his  blade.     The  like  carnivorous  battling 

I  have  not  seen  since  blood  became  high-prized 

With  liberty.     There  was  too  much  for  good; 

And  it  is  feared  that  this  luxurious  corpse-making 

Makes  other  trades  unpopular. 

Abym.  Blood's  Monkey! 

You  talk  as  if  this  age  invented  killing. 

Tut!     Men  will  die,  and  some  will  bleed  before. 

There's  naught  so  worthless  that  it  can't  be  sold 

At  the  price  of  life.     Devil  come  up!     Name's  legion! 

Cry  hallelujah  and  fly  at  the  fact. 

The  day  was  hot,  Gregorius. 

Greg.  Yea,  hot. 

Abym.     And  if  brave  men  flare  not  of  their  own  heat, 

Nature  will  lend  humanity  a  hand. 

Greg.     Yes;  I  have  seen.     I've  seen. 

Abym.  And  were  so  saying. 

Greg.    Too  much  for  memory, 

That  like  a  bucket  in  a  torrent  held, 

Through  over-filling  force,  never  fills  up. 

So  wild  was  yesterday,  my  memory's  lost 

Most  of  its  wildness. 

Abym.     You  had  a  friend  killed  in  the  day. 

Greg.     He  fought  near  Christopher,  and,  groping  further, 

Sickened  in  overwhelming  fury — fell. 

'Twas  in  the  most  expiring  place  of  all. 

Around  his  jumping  battle-form,  it  went 

As  if  to  rally  Hell,  tomorrow  Doomsday, 

And  life  inconsequent.     God  knows,  no  man, 

Though  'twere  the  king,  topping  his  fellow-kind, 

Could  have  stood  on  that  crowded  spot  and  lived. 

Unnatural  was  it.     Lives  threw  their  men  away. 

So  swiftly  stroke  with  stroke  revolved,  it  seemed 

The  slain  still  slew  the  living. 

Abym.     Well  worth  the  telling,  and  told  as  'twas  worth. 

And  yet  today  is  like  to  yesterday; 

More  men  lost  on  it  might  have  won  the  ground. 


26 


And  Christopher  still  takes  the  common  air. 

Heard  you  him  speak? 

Greg.  After  such  probing  with  their  steel, 

Hardly  so  cooled  with  mortal  exercise, 

He  and  the  king  in  silence  walked  away. 

And  all  the  while,  beside  my  idle  spear, 

Posted  in  sight  of  war,  I  watched  its  wounds. 

Here  comes  the  Christopher  who  toiled  within  it. 

Abym.     I'll  walk  with  you. 

Greg.     Nay;   I'll   remain.  (Exit  Abymelig] 

(Enter  CHRISTOPHER  and  WINIFRED;  she  carrying  flowers}. 

Win.     These  come  from  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  and  these — 

Chr.     Wild  roses,  plucked,  I  guess,  afar  from  here. 

Win.     Yes,  yes;  in  the  glen.     A  fawn  was  biting  them. 

At  once  I  had  no  mind  to  shout  him  off; 

And  then  I  thought,  as  if  he  had  enough, 

Half  for  the  fawn  and  half  for  Christopher. 

Them  I'll  arrange  with  crocuses  and  hazels 

Upon  your  table ;  yet  they're  dull  enough. 

Chr.     Dull?     No.     They're  gay  surpassing  all  my  gaiety. 

Win.     You  will  not  care:     I  had  a  sweetheart  once, 

And  every  while  stuck  hazels  in  his  hair. 

You  will  not  scorn  to  see  about  your  house 

The  very  token  that  I  gave  to  him? 

Chr.     A  blessing  on  your  sweetheart  and  the  hazels. 

(Exit  Winifred] 

Greg.     Keep  him  in  eye  that  has  no  eyes. 
Chr.     The  eyes  of  my  curiosity  keep  toward  him. 
Greg.     He  was  born  on  the  dark  side  of  the  moon, 
And  howling-blind  fell  to  our  earth. 
Chr.  You  mean  that  now  his  worst 

Is  not  his  howling  back  at  the  moon. 
Greg.     Fanatic,  flatterer,  contriver,  madman, 
His  useless  head  is  packed  with  apparitions 
That  make  him  feared  by  those  who  have  no  fear. 
Believest  thou  in  magic?     Then  take  him 
For  all  that's  wonderful. 
Chr.  Too  much  magical 


27 


Passing  as  flesh  and  blood  perplexes  me 

With  the  turns  of  its  adventurous  images. 

Greg.     There  was  a  noble  image  in  this  kingdom, 

Whose  feet  in  battle  raised  the  dust  of  Hell, 

Whilst  Heaven  set  a  wreath  upon  his  brow. 

Still  can  he  smoulder;  but  the  heavenly  bays 

Are  gone. 

Chr.     Thought  I  of  magic,  then  I  had  believed 

Him  spellbound,  utterly  unutterable 

Of  his  own  championship  and  speaking  self, 

While  the  princess  gave  to  her  own  whim  full  speed. 

Greg.     A  time  there  was,  when  fouled  with  contradiction, 

He  would  have  rumbled  like  a  stationed  army, 

To  note  that  fouled  he  was;  and  note  was  taken, 

Be  it  by  army  or  Ataragon, 

On  bended  knee. 

Chr.     Of  all  these  interests  and  royal  topics, 

I  am  the  vagabond. 

Greg.  I  saw  you 

As  one  whose  once  proud  words  and  high  command 

Had  come  to  sudden  wretchedness;  as  one 

Who,  in  his  dubious,  down-hearted  plea, 

Babbled  of  his  tormentor's  faith  and  virtue ; 

Then  silent  stood  for  lack  of  faith  in  hearing. 

Chr.     Can  there  be  love  or  justice  leaking  here? 

Find  God  who  can,  I  cannot  even  find  man. 

Some  deep  stagnation  on  his  lip  keeps  him 

Incredible.     Behold  the  imperial  statue. 

Is  it  mud  or  a  monument?     With  such  things  visible, 

Who'd  even  curse  them  or  half  turn  to  see 

The  Devil  himself  say  "damn  it"  in  despair. 

Greg.     A  humble  soldier  I,  yet  not  so  humble 

That  I  must  add  my  frowns  to  any  frown 

Howe'er  majestic,  if  the  time  and  frown 

Be  not  to  my  liking.     Tie  me  with  the  dogs 

If  I  can  understand  the  many  tricks 

That  some  triumphant  minds  call  honorable. 

Chr.     Who  fights  for  Bohanoc  bleeds  for  Sebastian: 

That  is  a  trick  of  destiny. 

Greg.     Touching  the  friendship  of  the  king, 


28 


You  have  the  fame  but  not  the  favor  of  it; 

And  for  my  commendation  of  your  case, 

You  have  the  favor,  but  it  bears  no  fame. 

Perhaps,  though  loosened  from  the  royal  blessing, 

You  will,  like  the  great  exile,  fond  of  manner, 

Hold  gorgeous  pride  within  thy  hollow  state, 

Scorning  the  lowly  station  that  is  mine 

And  the  gossip  of  a  military  bystander. 

Chr.  Gregorius, 

If   my   friends    are   not   my   friends,   then    my   friends    are   my 

friends. 

The  poor  idolater  before  his  idol 
That  stares  at  him  brazenly  or  blinks  by  candle 
And  never  mutters  with  a  miracle, 
Kneels  not  unceasingly. 

In  faith  we're  faithful,  but  in  doubt,  reluctant. 
Who  gives  me  doubt  gives  me  not  faith.     Once  I 
Rapt  in  the  brilliance  of  this  haughty  world, 
Reflected  some  of  its  own  excellence, 
That  lured  me  to  surmise  another  light. 
I  managed  well,  yet  bungled  thinking  of  it; 
As  casting  in  the  drama  of  my  dreams, 
Loved,  living  characters,  reared  in  vain  realism; 
And  should  have  dreamt  with  dreams,  that  I  might  know 
There's  nothing,  and  our  all-beseeching  hands 
Clutch  at  the  throat  of  the  impossible. 
Greg.     I  take  you  as  a  dreamer  over-dreamt 
And  mad  with  the  impossible.     Yet  such  visions 
As  come  of  woman,  woman  can  protect. 
Chr.     Such  dreams  protect? 
Greg.     The  queen  could  help  you. 
Chr.  Could? 

Greg.     Receive  it  as  a  proverb  of  the  queen : 
She  has  more  heaven  in  her  little  finger 
Than  lies  in  all  Ataragon's  imagination. 
In  the  subtleties  of  woman,  she  construes 
What  precedes  alpha  and  what  follows  omega. 
Chr.     That  wrecks  the  simple  alphabet  of  love, 
Benumbs  the  functions  and  annuls  the  words. 
Greg.     In  such  an  ecstacy  you  loved  Ataragon. 


29 


Chr.     All  other  lights  were  shadows. 

Greg.     Idols  of  pure  gold  heed  not 

Thy  golden  flattery;  and  those  of  clay, 

Are  deaf  to  many  arguments.     Each  is 

As  made;  and  all  thy  prayers  change  not  her  substance. 

This  ever  have  I  proven  good  in  love: 

Lay  siege  unto  the  weak ;  take  strength  by  storm. 

The  weak  will  temporize;  the  strong  embrace 

The  tempest. 

(Enter  BOHANOC,  EDAMIA,  ATARAGON.) 

Boh.     Well  met,  my  captain,  and  how  cracked  the  day 

Upon  your  bones? 

Chr.  These  uncracked  bones  persist, 

My  lord.     How  fares  your  battered  thumb? 

Boh.     I've  fought  with  staring  ribs,  nor  slacked  the  pace; 

By  this  thumb,  slight  its  injury,  offends  me. 

I  hope  we  shall  not  wave  the  axe  today. 

Edam.     I  fear  you  both  today.     Though  soft  ye  speak, 

The  fresh  complexion  and  the  rash  of  battle 

Around  your  eyes  do  linger.     Christopher, 

You  startled  us  with  your  impulsive  arm. 

Chr.     Less  than  you  startle  me  with  comment  on  it. 

Edam.     Thou  art  too  wilful-modest.     Even  as  Bohanoc 

Arises  from  his  bed  on  battle-day 

Too  early,  so  dost  thou,  great  prince,  arise 

Too  quick  and  early  in  thy  modesty. 

Chr.     It  is  a  mood  that's  better  early  than  late. 

Boh.     There's,  in  creation,  one  that's  modest  always: 

The  moon.     Last  night  the  moon  in  modest  beauty, 

Rolled  from  her  couch.     Oft  in  my  solitude, 

I  think  upon  the  moon. 

Edam.  The  moon,  my  lord? 

Boh.     I  do  not  understand  the  moon.     I  like  it 

Therefore. 

Atar.  The  sun  is  hard  upon  us. 

Boh.  Let  me  think 

Then  of  tonight's  moon,  last  night's  or  tomorrow's, 

When  the  ghosts  of  my  betters,  whom  I've  slain, 


30 


Tread  the  transparent  way. 

Edam.  Thy  betters? 

Never  a  better  soldier  or  a  king 

Went  forth  to  clear  the  field  of  undeservers. 

Boh.     They're  dead,  and  so  my  betters.     Christopher, 

You  labored  like  a  king;  which  is  to  say 

You  have  made  your  own  sovereign  half-ashamed 

He  went  no  further  and  outkinged  himself. 

Chr.     Thou  shamest  me  with  more  royal  praise ; 

And  I  must  hide  my  head  in  more  performance. 

Boh.     My  ministers  advise  to  make  you  champion, 

With  full  command  and  splendor  of  the  title. 

Chr.     Titles  and  splendors  wear  I  none. 

Boh.  Ataragon, 

Has  not  this  man's  o'erladen  gallantry 

Given  thee  cause  to  offer  him  your  mercy? 

Atar.     There's  naught  can  do  it. 

His  penalty  was  dated  for  all  time; 

And  all  is  done  except  continuance. 

Boh.     Is  the  spiritual  so  unyielding  to  true  spirits? 

Is  there  not  some  way  that  the  trenchant  law 

May  yet  undo  itself  and  still  be  law? 

Atar.     The  law  and  not  the  trespasser  is  holy. 

Boh.     And  some  there  are  that  smack  the  meaning  of  it. 

The  imperial  eye  lifts  to  the  empyreal  blue, 

And  stops  for  lack  of  welcome.     In  the  skies 

I  look  as  any  humble  wayfarer. 

Thus  do  I  fare.     Be  with  me,  wife  of  war. 

(Exeunt  Bohanoc  and  Edamia) 
Atar.     A  little  thing,  a  little  thing,  a  teardrop; 
And  many  have  a  many;  I,  not  one 
To  loose  this  vast  inflexibility. 
Ataragon,  Ataragon.     A  voice, 
A  whisper  fine  as  from  a  rose's  mouth, 
Calls  me  from  strict  establishment  and  grace, 
To  airs  of  unaccountable  frailty, 
More  like  a  worshipper  than  fatalist. 
Chr.     What  was  it  in  thee  that  must  wound  this  bosom 
Before  abandoning  it? 
Atar.     I'll  hear  that  sob  within  my  happiest  hour. 


31 


Chr.     Of  what  material  is  thy  happiness? 

Atar.     'Tis  woven  of  the  winds,  and  so  be  thine. 

Chr.     For  she  with  whom  I  wandered  was  a  phantom, 

Compounded  how,  I  know  not,  with  the  woman 

Fleshed  now  before  me. 

Atar.  We   are  all  ghosts. 

Chr.     This  ghost  hath  blood  in  him. 

Atar.     And  so  have  many  women.     There's  the  queen. 

What  message  was  it  went  between  your  eyes 

And  hers? 

Chr.     No  message. 

Atar.  Then  a  thought. 

Chr.     If  thought  or  glance  or  anything  of  eyes, 

'Twas  empty  as  a  moonbeam  of  intent. 

It  shot  no  light  nor  word  of  anything 

That  was  in  me. 

Atar.     Then  something  that's  to  come. 

I  saw  it.     Bohanoc  to  Christopher! 

From  lord  and  master  unto  lord  and  lover. 

The  mischievous  negotiations  went 

Like  mumbling  doves  betwixt  your  fluttering  eyes. 

Chr.     Before  the  enormity  of  such  ambition, 

I  must  forget  thee,  and  forget  much  else. 

Atar.     Thou  wilt  forget. 

Chr.     Toss  up  a  stone  until  it  learn  to  fly; 

So  will  I  heave  thy  memory  till  it  leaves  me. 

Atar.     Thou  wast  a  fond  and  fiery  lover  always, 

With  many  powers  of  the  impossible. 

Chr.     Eternal  was  my  love,  and  yet  it  ended, 

For  with  the  doomsday  of  my  soul  in  thee, 

Cessation  came  to  my  eternity. 

No  more  I  love;  which  said,  I  love  thee  more. 

And  the  more  I  love  the  less  of  me  remains 

To  wonder  that  my  lovelorn  self,  thus  lessened 

And  hurt  my  love,  can  love  more  than  before. 

Each  day  I  scanned  the  heavens,  while  the  sun, 

Like  angel  with  a  flaming  sword,  drove  me 

To  night's  despair.     At  night  I  watched 

The  sumptuous  convent  of  the  stars,  and  asked 

If  one  of  their  good  omens  might  be  mine. 


32 


Hope  saw  and  then  saw  not,  and  hoped  again 

To  see.  "O  wicked  witch  that,  at  our  birth, 

Bestows  the  gift  of  hope.  •  Thrice-wicked  hag 

That  stands  beside  the  sufferer  and  soothes 

His  hope  with  momentary  sweets;  for  still, 

Within  the  framework  and  the  agony, 

Hope  is  the  wild  and  supernatural  part 

That  dies  to  feed  upon  its  own  dead  heart. 

Atar.     A  bit  of  passion,  and  we  made  all  that  poetry 

Float  like  a  summer  on  the  useful  earth. 

Chr.     Here  comes  a  man  that's  on  his  way  to  Hell 

For  the  lewd  larceny  of  an  angel's  blessing; 

And  yet  no  token  on  him  that  he  knows 

Whether  a  blessing  or  a  curse  is  in  him. 

Thief,  knowest  thou  what  thou  hast  stolen? 

Atar.     Farewell,  dear  Christopher;   and,  with  the  perfume 

Of  one  unhappy  woman  on  thine  arm, 

Seek  thou  another.       (kisses  him]  (exit  Christopher] 

(Enter  SEBASTIAN  and  ABYMELIG) 

Seb.     This  Christopher  is  your  indubitable  foe. 

Meek  he  is  now ;  yet  now  is  not  enough. 

We  have  no  surety  that,  in  gathering  victories, 

He  will  not  dare  confront  your  sacred  name 

With  his  grown  military. 

Atar.     Abymelig,  hast  thou  talked  with  Christopher? 

Abym.     No,  Lily  of  the  Sky;  yet  I  have  heard 

Deeds  of  him  I  would  not  take  eyes  to  have  seen. 

Seb.^    War  is  a  monstrous  god  that  oft  breeds  beautiful, 

Or  is  a  beautiful,  that  may  breed  monsters. 

Atar.     Belike  his  victories  may  be  personal ; 

Yet  most  I  mourn  his  words.     Thou  knowest,  Sebastian, 

I  was  not  first  to  lay  love's  hand  on  hand, 

As  he  did  say. 

Stb-  No,  sweet;  I  swear  you  did  not. 

Atar.   ^  Though  having  right,  being  of  that  degree 

That,  in  propriety  and  maiden  case, 

Might  have  the  loving  imputation  put. 

But  you  were  bold,  and  boldly  drew  me  toward, 


33 


Shaking  the  holy  edifice  with  wooing. 

Seb.    Let  him  be  gone;  and  if  he  will  not  go, 

Then  woebegone  be  they  that  love  him  still. 

Atar.     Though  we  have  the  right,  let's  not  push  it  extremely. 

He's  loved  now  by  the  people. 

Abym.     Going  may  mean  returning;  dying  ends  the  story. 

Seb.     Fm  for  it  that  an  exile  be  writ  for  him, 

Giving  authority  to  execute 

Him  if  he  stay;  and  stay  he  will,  no  doubt. 

Then  if,  on  such  instruction,  he  not  go, 

There  is  a  hand  that  can  strike  death — a  hand 

Not  further  from  my  left  than  left  from  right. 

Atar.     If  death  be  done  him,  there'd  be  question  on  it. 

The  crowds  would  murmur  "why?"     And  even  gods 

Die,  being  questioned.     Christopher  will  go.       (exit) 

Abym.     If  the  world  be  an  egg — 

Seb.    '  An  egg? 

Abym.     Verily,  an  egg.    If  the  world  be  an  egg, 

Then  by  the  gods  and  by  grace  of  the  goddesses, 

There  is  a  chick  to  come. 

Seb.     But  if,  in  pleasure  of  some  other  fancy, 

The  world  be  something  else — 

Abym.     There  is  nothing  that  is  not  an  egg. 

I  speak  from  the  hatching  point.     Something  comes  of  it. 

The  obvious  earth,  the  impossible  sky,  proud  woman, 

Mysterious  kingdom;  something  may  peep  out. 

Seb.     So  be  the  wisdom  of  it. 

Abym.     And  whosoever,  cogitating  freely 

Upon  an  egg,  and  knowing  not  its  constitution, 

Would  have  a  thought  that  this  ungainly  shell 

And  sloppy  contents,  in  the  course  of  days, 

Would  open  and  let  fly  a  winged  creature? 

Couldst  thou,  from  scrutiny  and  pondering  on  it? 

Seb.     Nay,  nay;  not  I. 

Abym.     'Tis  matter  then  to  be  foreseen 

What  birds  may  peep  from  facts  now  in  the  nest. 

Seb.     I  warrant  that  you've  seen  the  pregnant  branch 

Where  this  nest  has  its  bower. 

Abym.  Some  do  say  that  I 

Am  wonder-stricken  with  the  poisonous  light 


34 


Spilled  of  the  moon;  by  which  I  am  a  dreamer. 

'Tis  merely  for  predicting  that  tomorrow 

Follows  today.     Some  facts  are  feasible. 

Seb.     'Twere  useless  to  deny  today  as  egg 

Whence  hops  tomorrow. 

Abym.     Why,  sir,  'twere  folly  to  a  fool.    Each  man 

Upon  the  slopes  of  wisdom  feigns  himself 

At  the  mountain  top;  and  all  above  him,  when  upward 

His  eyes  do  visit,  he  surveys  as  clouds. 

Now,  who's  the  dreamer:  he  who  from  the  peak 

Dreams  higher  than  his  feet  will  carry  him 

Or  he  who  dreams  the  higher  peaks  are  mist? 

Seb.     Abymelig,  to  thee  I  do  gaze  up, 

And  laud  thee  from  the  top  of  admiration. 

Abym.     I  grant  you.     Ha!     Let's  talk  of  things  in  the  air. 

Seb.     The  earth's  our  subject  matter  nevertheless. 

Abym.     The  common  view,  but  not  our  privileged  viewpoint. 

Where  find  you  honor:  on  the  earth  or  sky-bound? 

Seb.     I  hold  my  honor  not  so  high  that  ifs  out 

Of  reach  for  worldly  good,  nor  yet  so  low 

That  I  may  not  condemn  the  baser  sort. 

Mine  honor  should  not  posture  in  the  clouds, 

Where  men  may  mock  it;  nor  hang  on  my  shoulder, 

Where  I  may  drag  it.     More  precise  to  be: 

It  dwells  not  in  my  heart,  where  men  will  bruise  it, 

But  in  my  head,  where  I  with  prudence  use  it. 

Abym.     'Tis  just;  yet  honor  is  a  bond. 

Seb.     We  live  in  a  certain  bondage. 

Abym.     Much  to  the  entertainment  of  those  culprits 

Not  so  convicted.     We  must  measure  this, 

And  find  the  length  to  which  our  fibers  go. 

Seb.     So  I  have  seen  atimes  that  honor  makes 

Good  rope  for  a  cow  but  will  not  fly  a  kite. 

Abym.     Does  not  the  string,  my  lord,  nag  at  the  kite, 

That  else  could  not  maintain  its  windy  summit? 

Seb.     The  string  of  honor  could  not  hoist  alone. 

A  spurious  bird  upholds  it  in  the  winds. 

Abym.     All  operated  by  a  staring  boy, 

Whose  poor  head  knows  not  what  conflicting  causes 

His  rich  hand  holds. 


35 


Seb.     Can  there  be  men  so  handling  opulence? 

Abym.     I  speak  not  of  the  pusillanimous; 

I  say  thou  art  not  such.     In  these  ideas 

Of  men,  are  overegg  and  underegg. 

You  let  no  man  o'eregg  you,  though  he  own 

That  ornament  which  makes  the  brow  majestic, 

And  the  seat  whose  occupant  is  at  a  level 

Whither  men  bow  their  shy,  unroyal  heads. 

Seb.     Thou  tell'st  the  truth  of  me,  Abymelig. 

Abym.     Days  are  to  come  when  unfamiliar  sights 

Will,  in  this  air,  flourish  their  marvelous  wings, 

Rove  through  the  clouds  and  prey  on  wonderment. 

Mine  eyes  cannot  behold;  joy  see  for  me. 

Seb.     Glows  like  a  phoenix  in  flamboyant  ashes, 

My  everlasting  faith,   again,   again, 

In  mine  own  destiny.     What  king  is  there 

But  Bohanoc  that  keeps  me  not  a  king? 

More  king  than  he  am  I,  for  that  more  kings 

I  have  in  my  undoubted  ancestry. 

More  times  a  king  than  he  in  blood  and  right, 

I  have  been  more,  within  that  right  of  blood, 

Impetuous  by  blood  to  prove  the  right. 

Abym.     What  is  a  king  in  history?     Were  he 

Prince  of  the  orotund  earth,  he  meets  a  day 

Too  royal  and  too  terrible  for  human  eyes. 

Seb.     Discoursing  of  a  prince  not  in  his  praises 

Is  mouthing  rebellion;  yea,  it  is  treason 

To  say  that  monarchs  die. 

Abym.     Nature  herself  rebels  at  Nature.     Treason 

Is  honesty  audacious. 

Seb.  We  are  honest, 

Being  natural ;  so  too  the  rebel  chiefs. 

Abym.     War,  the  world's  timely  issue  of  blood,  a  season 

Of  sultriness  and  bloody  escapades — 

Take  it  for  what  thou  wilt — a  hot  condition, 

Rebellious  or  romantic.     War  is  warmth, 

To  hatch  an  opportunity.     There's  love; 

That's  warmth.     Where  love  is,  chance  is — change  of  heart; 

And  such  a  change  as  may  promote  new  throbs 


36 


Within  a  whole  environment  of  hearts  that  dream 
Not  of  it. 

Seb-  Bohanoc  may  think 

I  love  his  daughter  better  than  his  kingdom, 

My  heart  in  which  I  never  can  forget. 

Now  is  mine  honor  bound  to  fight  for  him 

In  this  rebellion. 

Ha!  I  do  let  mine  honor  go  to  war; 

But  shall  not  risk  my  hand  at  it.     If' he 

Be  slain,  I  should  not  say:  "I  weep  for  thee 

That  canst  no  longer  make  me  weep.     The  tears 

I  shed  for  mine  own  tragedy  I  turn 

To  thine,"  I  shall  not  say. 

Abym.     What  harpies,  vultures  and  Stymphalian  birds, 

Fates,  Graces,  Gorgons,  all  mythology 

And  pandemonium  convulsed  with  Nature 

In  one  great  orgy  of  destruction — Bah! 

What's  that  unto  a  king,  if  king  he  be? 

He'll  glance  at  ruination  and  receive  it 

With  courtly  grace. 

Seb.    There's  one  I  fear  more  than  the  king. 

Abym.     Coiled  in  this  chaos  is  the  furtive  queen. 

Must  look  to  her,  for  she  is  quick  at  looking. 

With  Bohanoc  a  moment  gone,  she  would, 

By  her  own  beauty,  keep  herself  aloft. 

The  queen  hath  an  amorous  leg,  and  sees  the  world 

Supplied  with  princes  for  all  purposes. 

And  she  is  of  this  kind;  you  know  her  better 

When  she's  done  worse  than  you  could  e'er  have  known. 

Seb.     Then  may  she  know  us  better  for  the  same. 


37 


ACT  III.     Garden  near  the  palace. 
CHRISTOPHER  and  JOHN. 

John.     When  I  dislike  a  thing,  I  like  it  less 

As  each  sun  rises  on  it.     Night  refreshes 

And  day  refills  my  evident  dislike. 

Chr.     How  is  it  one  as  good  can  hate  so  well? 

John.     Some  men  hate  viciously;  some,  with  their  virtues; 

These  plotting  precincts  can  keep  both  employed. 

Chr.     Methinks  it  is  poor  place  for  pleasant  fancies. 

Ataragon,  Sebastian  and  Abymelig. 

John.     A  wondrous  three,  whom  Bohanoc  abhors 

And  is  afraid  of.     I  did  see  him  scowl, 

Frown  like  a  godhead  in  terrestrial  form, 

Coming  from  camp,  when  her  men  in  the  wood 

Made  last  night  phosphorous  with  heathen  fires. 

Chr.     If  she  were  traitor  to  the  king  as  well — 

Oh,  no.     In  her  dominion  spirit  rules, 

And  rules  o'er  spirit,  not  the  mantled  creature. 

John.     Yet  with  Sebastian's  mind,  she  may  do  anything. 

She  is  abstruse,  and  mystery  loves  no  one. 

Love  king,  please  people,  pray  God,  woo  Sebastian — 

All  will  she.     Takes  much  and  gives  little  for  it, 

Glossing  the  world  with  lovely  avarice, 

Counting  this  man  this  much;  another,  that. 

For  women  e'er  were  beggars  all. 

Chr.     And  beggar  all  our  monarchy. 

John.  What  is  there  here? 

The  princess,  fair  enough,  if  skin  be  fair, 

Yet  supple  with  that  sorceries  within, 

We  know  not  yet,  as  dedicating  the  heavens 

To  goblins  and  grotesques  and  sensual  dance. 

The  king — carnage  unleashed  upon  the  field; 

A  brooding  Satan  in  his  home.     A  queen 

That's  too,  too  beautiful  to  brood  on  his  brooding. 

That  is  the  publication  of  it. 

(Enter  a  messenger.} 


38 

Messenger    (handing  letter  to   Christopher}.     For  you,  sir. 
Chr.     Who  sends  this  ? 
Mess.     It  is  from  Fate. 
Chr.     Fate  knows  the  answer  then. 
Mess.     So  I'll  not  wait.     (Exit.) 

Chr.  (reading).     In  the  name  of  the  Invisible  and  of  Ataragon: 
By  virtue  of  the  sacred  law,  you,  hereby  designated  as  Prince 
Christopher,    are   instructed   that,   within   two   days  you   depart 
from  your  present  domicile  and  take  no  future  residence  within 
twenty  miles  of  it.     And  you  are  further  instructed  not  to  en 
gage   again  in  battle  or  public  parley.     Failing  this,  you  will 
be   in   sufferance   of  death.     Witness   the   signet  of  the   Mystic 
Tree  and  the  hand  of  the  Holy  Temple. 
John.     Virtue  for  this? 
Plant  lilies  in  this  excremental  sod! 
Now  let  us  leave,  glad  to  be  spurned  away. 
This  is  a  sea  of  pirates. 

Chr.     My  ship  sinks  on  the  land.     The  solid  earth 
Has  waves  and  perils  for  my  voyaging. 

(Enter  EDAMIA.) 

Chr.     Peace  be  with  us ! 

Edam.  And  art  thou  peace,  Sir  John? 

John.     Not  I.     Nor  liberty  save  to  withdraw.     (Exit.) 

Edam.     Thou'rt  calm. 

Chr.     I  have  been  robbed,  and  only  calm  remains. 

Edam.     And  I  robbed  of  my  calm;  all  else  remains 

To  stir  in  confusion. 

Chr.  In  ourselves 

There's  left  a  whole  one,  then. 

Edam.  Your  calm  and  my  confusion 

Would  not  make  one  good  soul ;  it  would  be  traitorous, 

And  that's  less  than  integrity. 

Chr.     All,  all  are  traitors;  none  are  true.     The  fool 

That's  true  to  others  is  false  to  himself; 

And  that's  the  worst  of  treasons. 

Edam.  It  is  thine. 

Yes ;  worse  than  worst  is  to  be  self-accused — 

Be  criminal  and  victim  and  the  judge; 

Unloyal  to  thyself,  betrayed  by  self 


39 


And  by  thyself  judged  guilty.     Ataragon 

Hath  wronged  thee  much.     Be  careful  lest  thou  wrong 

Thyself  with  too  much  judging.     Wisdom  is  a  cat; 

Sees  well  in  fortune's  night — prithee  for  what? 

To  catch  a  mouse  of  logic. 

Chr.     Yet  thoughts  do  come,  if  not  before  the  deed, 

Then  afterward.     To  live:  to  sing  and  jump 

In  this  antique,  extemporaneous  world; 

To  love:  love  is  a  little  while.     And  what 

If  these  infinitives  should  be  no  more? 

They  are  the  grammar  of  a  little  nonsense. 

Life  is  a  looking  here  and  there  to  the  end. 

To  know,  to  know,  I've  walked  all  paths,  to  know, 

Till  knowledge  paused  incredulous,  turned  back; 

While  all  of  certainty  brought  no  delight; 

And  all  uncertain,  pain.     Survival  finds 

Its  own  endurance  unendurable. 

Love  lingers  where  'tis  banished;  thrives  of  venom. 

What  vitals  hath  our  love  that  it  survives 

Unpoisoned  with  the  coarse,  nefarious  food 

That's  found  upon  the  tables  of  desire? 

Yet  cometh  ever  beauty  to  the  scene. 

A  faint  compassion,  and  the  earthly  heart 

Outflies  the  supernatural. 

Damned  be  the  princess;  blessed  for  me  the  queen.    (Kisses  her) 

Edam.     The  king's  queen! 

Chr.  I  too  am  a  king. 

The  queen's  kiss  has  made  me  a  king. 

Edam.     Her  kiss  has  made  thee  outlaw. 

Chr.  Some  are  born 

For  their  own  law. 

Edam.  And  some  are  born  for  torture. 

Chr.     The  torture  waiting  for  thy  lips  again 

Must  overcome  all  other  agony. 

Edam.     The  king  shall  know. 

Chr.     Go  tell  the  simple  king: 

We  choose  our  servants,  not  our  vanquishers. 

Edam.     Christopher,  that  never  fled  from  warrior, 

Thou  must  from  me  be  fugitive.     Let  mine 

Be  one  of  good  predictions  for  your  fate, 


40 


Yet  far  away. 

Chr.     "Go,"  say  your  lips ;  but  "stay,'*  your  eyes  implore. 

I  lipped  those  lips;  they  have  good  reason  for  bidding 

Me  hence.     Your  eyes  have  no  such  insult — eyes, 

That,  with  their  faraway  considering,  tell  me, 

"Be  thou  not  far  away.'* 

Edam.     Cursed  art  thou,  Christopher,  for  gazing  on  me. 

Chr.     What  wonders  come  of  gazing!     Eyes  behold; 

Mouth  rants ;  arms  wave ;  feet  catch  the  stride.    Whereat, 

The  hysterical  tragedian  stands  aghast 

In  the  illumination  and  the  marvels 

Of  his  own  conjury,  believing  all 

He  bombasts,  raging  o'er  his  own  behavior, 

Infuriated  by  his  own  inventions. 

Within  the  moment  and  the  exigence, 

The  action  blows  too  big  for  him:  behold, 

He  bursts ;  still  man  in  form  but  not  in  fact, 

Because  the  dream  is  gone.     And  words  did  this. 

Edam.     Oh,  burst,  my  manner  of  myself. 

Chr.     So  then,  is  not  an  infant,  born  and  twisting 

Out  of  her  body,  offspring  of  the  eyesight? 

Shall  I  such  tale  of  love  now  foist  upon  thee? 

Kings,  courtiers,  courtesans,  pretenders, 

Bawds,  mischief-makers,  bandy-legged  louts, 

Caitiffs  and  concubines  are  apt  in  telling  it. 

Why,  any  woodman  to  his  wench  can  say  it. 

Edam.     Thou  art,  thou  art,  thou  art — what  art  thou  ? 

Chr.     Who  asks  "what  art  thou?"     Thee  I  do  not  know. 

There's  nothing  to  be  known,  for  all  is  nothing. 

Ah,  most  mysterious  if  we're  more  than  nothing. 

A  dialogue  between  two  mysteries — 

We  have  it.     Facing  thus,  what  matters  it 

What  notions  pass  between  us?     Stay!     Whose  thoughts 

Are  these?     Not  mine;  and  yet  they're  in  my  head. 

Whose  queen  art  thou?     Not  mine;  and  yet  thou'rt  here. 

What  are  these  jarrings  on  the  door  of  life 

That  wakes  the  sleeper  and  he  speaks  to  darkness? 

The  knock  is  heard;  or  at  no  mortal  sound, 

We  ope  the  door  and  ruefully  cry  out, 

Who's  there?     Comes  no  reply  from  beauty's  lips 


41 


Red  with  love's  perjury.     O  perjury! 

The  best  that's  told  us  is  best  perjury. 

Edam.     Oh,  fearful! 

With  what  commodities  are  you  stored  up 

That  I  should  yearn  to  buy  with  coins  of  pity 

Warm  from  the  holding  of  my  timid  hands? 

And  thou  so  young,  with  aged  thoughts  afflicted ! 

Chr.     I  am  not  young.     So  mingled  are  my  years, 

Lives  juggled,  terrors  boded,  in  me  is 

Youth  climbing  to  the  shoulders  of  old  age 

To  look  for  scenes  that  old  age  never  saw. 

Edam.     And  I. 

I  am  not  one  come  frightened  here ;  nor  cringe 

Before  the  doors  of  middle  age ;  nor  hold 

In  mincing  hand  the  blossoms  plucked  in  girlhood. 

The  inquisitive  sun  may  light  my  cheek  at  noon, 

And  find  no  ageing  charactery  there. 

Still  can  I  show,  without  affected  usance, 

The  unrelinquished  fancies  of  a  maid. 

My  arms,  with  gifts  of  time  though  burdened,  bear 

No  trace  of  troubling  through  those  years:  arms  rich 

With  recollections  of  a  king,  yet  poor 

With  some  incomprehensible  neglect, 

Not  yet  of  thee. 

Chr.  Those  arms  now  beckon  me. 

Edam.     But  not  thy  conscience.     That  could  never  come 

To  rest  here. 

Chr.  In  his  conscience  now, 

Sadly  the  captain  of  the  king  says  "Never," 

He  would  not  captain  where  the  king  reigns  not, 

Nor  reign  to  make  his  king  subordinate. 

Yet  in  another  conscience,  he  protests: 

Ne  never  promised  that  he  would  not  kiss  you ; 

He  never  gave  consent  unto  thy  marriage. 

No  one  consulted  me,  and  I  consult 

Only  thyself. 

Edam.  Still   I   consult  thy  conscience. 

Chr.     All's  taken  from  me ;   and  I'm  given  conscience, 

So  that  I  dare  take  nothing  back. 


42 

Edam.  There  are 

Pains  of  receiving  pain,  pains  giving  pain ; 

The  last  is  truly  worse;  make  it  not  mine, 

But  go  before  I  ail  with  both  mishaps. 

The  evidence  is  for  destruction.     Go ! 

Ah,  I  came  here  not  to  say  "Go."     Leave  me, 

Say  I.  Leave  him,  I  said.     There  is  no  leave 

Nor  go.     Weirdly  I've  listened  to  the  discourse, 

That,  like  two  spectral  voices  in  a  ruin, 

Made  ruin  of  my  competence.     Come,  come. 

Go,  go.     This  the  continual  debate 

Within.     While  Fancy  whispers,  "Follow  me," 

Oblivion  wails,  "Forget."1     Nay,  is  it  nay; 

And  nay.     What  logic  can  make  nay  not  nay? 

Oh,  is  it  less  than  those  eternal  nays 

That  sum  up  never? 

Chr.  Say  that  there's  one  less. 

The  signals!     Hark! 

Edam.  Combat  again ! 

Another,  nearer  shout.     More  lives  are  wanted 

By  the  greedy  difference  of  opinion.     War, 

That  seemed  once  blasphemy  and  complete  evil, 

Is  now  a  circumstance  of  agitation. 

(Enter  GREGORIUS.) 

Greg.    To  arms !     To  arms !     To  arms ! 

Edam.     To  arms,  all  Hell,  and  fight  my  temper  down. 

Chr.     Farewell,  Edamia.     (Exit.} 

Greg.  The  king — is  where? 

Edam.     The  king?     The  king?     'Tis  well. 

Edamia,  where's  the  king?     He  should  be  here. 

Whisper  thou  "arms,"  and  Bohanoc  is  near. 

Even  now  I  hear  the  footsteps  of  monarchy. 

(Exit  Gregorius.} 

Insatiate  madness!     Still,  these  wars  are  drugs. 
They're  more  than  blood ;  and,  with  some  feeding  crime 
Or  sinful  nutriment,  o'erlavish  the  brain, 
And  make  its  thoughts  divine  absurdities. 
Brawls  are  a  man's  place  of  divinity; 
Excitement  is  a  woman's  drunkenness. 


43 


(Enter  BOHANOC.) 

How  slow  and  thoughtful  art  thou,  Bohanoc! 

Boh.     Today  I  have  no  whim  for  slaughter. 

It  is  the  birthday  of  my  kingdom.     Edamia, 

How  much  in  likelihood  would  be  defeat 

On  the  annual  memory  of  that  showy  morn. 

The  worst  guest  comes  upon  the  festive  moment, 

And  celebration  marks  the  day  of  doom. 

Edam.     Bethink  thee!     Life  hath  no  such  measurement. 

(Enter  SEBASTIAN  and  ATARAGON.) 

Seb.     Again  the  fats  and  greases  of  humanity 

Are  spluttering  ire.     This  day  we  fight  again. 

To  arms,  my  soul ;  and  give  me  such  contortion, 

Such  maxims  of  the  sword  and  truthful  stroke 

That  nevermore  will  treachery  lift  its  head 

To  hiss  its  stench  against  our  mighty  lord. 

Oh,  were  it  given  me  to  go  afield, 

And  take  them  one  by  one,  I'd  do  for  all. 

Boh.     I'll  go  to  camp  direct.     Sebastian,  keep 

Your  forces  to  the  left,  and  wait  my  charge. 

My  queen,  your  hair  looks  bonny  in  ^array, 

As  if  some  dreamy  witch  had  copped  it  up 

With  negligence  outdoing  care.  (Exit.} 

Edam.     Said  "negligence." 

Have  care  for  negligence,  for  it  brings  care. 

Why  stays  he  here? 

Brutish  obscurity  contracts  his  brows. 

The  inner  effort  rolls  about  his  eyes. 

What  honor,  brave  Sebastian? 

Seb.  Ready,  madam, 

For  the  next  furious  moment.     Have  you  seen  Christopher? 

Edam.     Go  that  way,  and  not  having  found  him  there, 

Return.     He  is  expected  here. 

(Exeunt  Sebastian  and  Ataragon.) 

Edam.  Gregorius! 
(Enter  GREGORIUS.) 
Come  hither,  valiant  man.  Aye,  more  than  that. 


44 


Come,  Valor,  and  thy  confidential  ear. 

That  man — Sebastian;  be  near  him  today. 

He  is  felonious,  foul,  engrossed  in  crime, 

Rank,  brined  in  guilt,  means  damage  to  Christopher. 

If  they  two  meet — Sebastian  watch,  who  if, 

By  word,  sign,  manner,  gesture  or  control, 

Blush,  motion,  start  or  effort,  seems  to  act 

Murderously  or  else  toward  Christopher, 

Kill  off  Sebastian  and  Sebastian's  plots 

Forever.     Hast  thou  feeling  for  it?     Say! 

Gregorius ! 

Greg.     From  the  bottom  of  your  heart  to  the  top  of  mine. 

Edam.     Then  do  it. 

And  at  the  time  no  hesitation  strain. 

But  quick — quick  as  the  Devil  can  wink  an  eye. 

(Re-enter  SEBASTIAN.) 

Seb.     I  have  not  found  him. 

(Enter  CHRISTOPHER.) 

Seb.     Are  you  for  action  ? 

Chr.  Now,  sir. 

Seb.  It  is  told 

That  you  have  orders  taking  you  from  battle. 

Chr.     Yes ;  it  is  told.     All  hark  to  what  is  told. 

Why,  that  is  the  beginning,  not  the  end 

Of  nursery  tales;  like  "once  upon  a  time." 

There  is  more  to  it.     Aye!     Read  on,  Sebastian. 

Now  comes  a  dreadful  scene. 

Seb.     Then  let's  to  camp. 

(Exeunt  Christopher  and  Sebastian.} 

Edam.     O  follow!  (Exit  Gregorius} 

If  he  should  die,  indulgence  would  die  with  him. 

If  he  should  live,  duty  could  not  live  near  him. 

Seb.  (without}.     Help  ho!     Help  me! 

(Re-enter  SEBASTIAN  running,  with  GREGORIUS  close  up} 

Help,  friends.     Friends,  help  ! 
(Gregorius  stabs  him.     Sebastian  falls} 

(Enter  CHRISTOPHER) 


45 


Chr.     I'm  cut  in  the  back. 

Greg.  Lie  here,  my  lord. 

Edam.     Oh,  tarry;  I  will  get  physicians.  (Exit.} 

Chr.     I'll  die  with  soldiers,  not  physicians.  (Exit] 

Greg.     I've  killed  a  villain;  goodly  deed  in  times 

When  honest  men  kill  honest. 

Not  dead,  yet  he  will  die.  (Exit) 

(Enter  ATARAGON) 

A  tar.     Oh,  where  is  he?     Blood  speaks  tor  him.     Sebastian! 

Seb.     My  death  is  for  your  sake. 

A  tar.  Stay,  stay,  my  life ; 

Lay  thy  head  in  my  lap.     I  know  thoult  live. 

Seb.     In  the  lap  of  Nature  I  shall  soon  be  lying. 

I  am  falling.  (Dies) 

A  tar.     Alone ! 

Here  is  best  effort  sprawling  on  the  ground. 

Here's  what  I  boasted.     Nothing  but  a  puzzle 

Bleeding  all  out.     O  speak,  ye  gory  serpents 

Reeling  around  his  body.     Ye  are  from  his  heart. 

Would  that  ye  could  rear  up  and  bite  at  mine. 


46 


ACT  IF.     Room  in  Christopher's  house. 
CHRISTOPHER,  JOHN  and  WINIFRED. 

John.     There  never  was  like  this  a  marriage. 

Desire  and  expedition,  from  one  cup 

Together  drank,  and  finished  at  a  gulp. 

Chr.     I  took  her  midst  the  trumpets  and  alarms 

Of  battle;  sent  her  home  quick-pledged,  short-blessed, 

A  wee,  bewildered  wife. 

Win.     Think  of  this  most  injurious  union. 

You  have  in  you  something  sometime  addressed 

"Your  majesty."     There  is  a  golden  tincture 

Of  scepters  and  of  crowns  runs  in  your  blood. 

Chr.     God  bless  thee,  little  girl. 

Win.     Not  girl  in  fact  nor  little  in  a  fancy. 

Chr.     Yet  we're  all  children  much  in  need  of  blessing. 

Win.     Hush!     "Blessing9'  is  a  fearful  word. 

Chr.  When  we  deserve  it, 

And  'tis  withheld. 

Win.  When  we  deserve  it  not, 

And  it  is  given. 

Chr.  What  means  my  fanciful,  my  wife? 

I'll  call  thee  Fancy  and  not  Winifred. 

Why  hangs  thy  pretty  head  ? 

Win.  The  ripe  fruit  hangs; 

The  green  holds  up. 

Chr.  What's  ripened  thee  so  soon, 

Fond  Winifred? 

Win.  Nay;  call  me  Fancy,  if  you  will. 

How  many  things  when  Fancy  called  are  fair, 

That  would  be  darker  with  another  name? 

Chr.     Now  you  are  questioning  instead  of  telling. 

John.     So  much  uncertainty  about  me  drifts, 

I  am  uncertain  where  to  move.     However, 

Move  do  I  evermore.  (Exit} 

Win.     I  would  speak  of  Abymelig.     Well  know'st  thou  him? 

Chr.     I  know  him  well  for  all  that  is  not  well. 


47 


Win.     Abymelig  had  a  dream. 

Chr.     Do  blind  men  dream,  and  in  their  eyeless  mind 

See  that  which  is  by  day  denied? 

Win.     It  must  be  so. 

Had  he  a  dream  of  me,  it  was  a  bad  one. 

They  who  believe  in  signals  of  the  night 

Always  dream  evil.     And  he  has  announced 

He  will  relate  the  hateful  scene  to  you, 

As'll  make  you  angrily  arise  and  kill  me, 

As  you  slay  enemies.     So  I  do  fear. 

Chr.     The  dream  is  naught  to  us.     The  damned  bezonian 

Frightens  by  bonny.     He  had  better  play 

Blind  man's  buff  with  a  bat  than  boo  with  us. 

Win.     O  my  lord!     Christopher,  dear  Christopher! 

Hold  me,  love,  closer  so.     Abymelig 

Dreamt  that  I  was  untrue  to  you,  and  swears 

That  he  will  tell  you  all  he  dreams. 

Chr.  He  better  not, 

Or  I'll  make  all  of  him,  blind  though  he  be. 

'Twould  be  relief  to  many  that  have  sight. 

Fear  not,  my  chuck,  for  that  a  wretch  lies  down 

And  behind  his  filthy  eyeballs  has  a  dream. 

Win.     Oh,  no! 

Chr.     So  there's  the  end  of  it. 

Win.  Ah,  me ! 

Chr.     Or  is  there  any  dangling  end  beyond  it? 

Win.     What  if  it  were  no  painting  of  the  sleep 

But  indication  of  the  light,  as  he, 

Abymelig,  in  darkness  sees  it? 

Chr.     And  at  this  time,  a  long  tranquility 

Descends  upon  him. 

Win.     What  are  you  saying,  meaning,  whom  speak  of? 

Chr.     How  soon!     Ere  confidence,  having  dived  under, 

Grapples  the  nether  floods  of  destiny, 

Has  time  to  swim  up  for  his  breath,  comes  tempest, 

With  shock  and  raving  wave,  to  lift  the  sea, 

Enraged  to  find  the  victim  still  with  courage. 

Win.     Forgive  me,  Christopher,  for  I  am  young; 

And  subterfuge  is  old  as  the  tongue's  history. 

Abymelig,  now  scanning  thy  misfortunes, 


48 


O'er  which  the  structure  of  thy  calm  was  bright, 

Desires  to  crash  thy  house  with  tale  of  me 

In  faulty  action.     But  mine  was  not  that. 

Mine  was  the  captured  struggle  of  a  dove 

White  'neath  a  ruffian's  hands. 

Chr.  Who  is  thy  lover? 

Win.     I  love  him  not;  he  is  a  vulgar  one. 

A  soldier  who  deserted  the  king's  arms  and  mine, 

Abymelig  doth  know. 

Chr,  Held  you  him  tenderly? 

Win.     Before  I  knew  thee,  Christopher — before. 

Then  he  came  back  when  I  was  part  of  thee. 

Chr.     Two  days  a  wife,  and  — incorruptible  Hell, 

That  think'st  in  curses,  thinkest  of  me  still  ? 

O  Bohanoc,  insidiously  avenged 

For  my  unseen  and  incompleted  sin! 

Win.  No,  no! 

Chr.     Thus  we  have  ended  quickly. 

Win.     Is  that  all? 

Is  marriage  a  pressure,  kiss  and  then  farewell? 

Is  there  no  kindness  yet? 

Chr.     What  kindness  would  you  have?     What  have  you? 

Win.     You  could  not  find  a  woman  fond  as  I, 

Or,  now  that  I  have  yielded  up  my  fault, 

More  truthful-humble,  begging  what  thou  givest, 

Attentive  to  thy  nimble  wishes  always. 

Thou'lt  not  find  such  as  I.     Knowest  thou  not? 

Thou  dost  not  know.     In  thy  comparisons 

Of  women,  thou   art  poor. 

Chr.  And  they  are  guileful? 

Win.     Oh,  yes! 

The  most  unruly  would  in  marriage  rule; 

The  worst  are  loudest;  falsest,  most  arrogant; 

The  lowest  in  sinning  are  least  penitential. 

Look  at  the  loveliest  that  e'er  was  loved; 

The  cream  is  skimmed  and  then  the  milk  is  curdled. 

Chr.     These  as  they  are,  are  there  not  some  yet  faithful  ? 

Win.     Believe  it,  Christopher,  faith  and  sworn  matters 

Are  changing  moods  with  women.     Faith  forever? 

Summers  and  winters  go  within  forever, 


49 


With  days  and  nights  that  slowly  fill  the  time. 

Happy  she  that  weaves  pleasure's  golden  fleece, 

From  day  to  day  and  edge  to  honorable  edge, 

Without  the  telltale  tarnish  of  guilt's  thread 

Entangled  from  an  intervening  hour. 

The  tapestry's  not  pure,  my  lord,  with  any. 

Chr.     We  are  born  hungry,  and  the  nourished  brain 

Acquires  the  habit  of  pursuit  unending. 

The  indistinguishable  soul,  unsated 

With  the  most  satisfying  flesh,  goes  on, 

Seeking  the  nipples  of  some  new  desire; 

Forever  feasts,  forever  famishes. 

Food  for  all  hungers  there  is  not. 

There  is  a  vision  in  us, 

Or  aspiration  for  a  tempting  thing 

Curved  like  a  bosom  from  a  mocking  sky, 

Lures  us  to  woman  and  to  songs  of  her ; 

Then  melts  into  despair. 

Win.  Let  me  sing  thee  a  song. 

Chr.     Sing,  thou,  since  thou  hast  quelled  my  only  music. 

Win.     I'll  get  my  harp,  and  chant  beside  its  wires. 

Chr.     Play  some  dark  tragedy  on  a  tambourine, 

Skippingly  to  and  fro  with  thy  feet. 

Be  noisy  as  thou  wilt. 

Win.  Be  not  unkind.  (Exit) 

Chr.     Alike  though  be  their  lessons,  would  that  this 

Were  learned  from  whiter  arms  and  sweeter  lips. 

God  knoweth  where  we  place  our  kisses. 

(Re-enter  WINIFRED) 

Win.     What  shall  I  sing? 

Chr.  Sing  "Paradise." 

Win.  (singing}. 

In  Paradise  there  was  a  tree 
Angel,  sing  merrily. 

God  wot,  and  there  were  he  and  she. 
Demon,  sing  merrily. 

To  do  this  much  and  not  that  more, 

Without  that  more  they  wandered  free; 

So  runs  the  burden  of  this  lore. 
In  Paradise  there  was  a  tree. 


50 


In  Paradise  there  was  a  tree. 

Adam,  sing  merrily. 
He  did  not  know  nor  wist  yet  she. 

Eva,  sing  merrily. 
Within   the   world    of   evermore, 
The  timid  two  thought  not  of  three, 
Nor  wisdom  had  of  men  before. 

In  Paradise  there  was  a  tree. 

In  Paradise  there  was  a  tree. 

Infant,  sing  merrily. 
Heigh-ho  for  us  and  all  to  be. 

Old  man,  sing  merrily. 
While  sinning  least  or  sinning  more, 
It  is  enough  for  thee  and  me 
To  sing  as  all  have  sung  before. 

In  Paradise  there  was  a  tree. 

Chr.     'Tis  beautiful  as  ever,  Fancy. 
Thus  fall  the  generations  o'er  and  o'er. 
Reading  the  terrible  tale  of  an  apple  core. 
Poor,  frightened,  pale,  connubial  waif — not  sinful, 
Though  shaped  with  matter  of  provincial  sin. 

(Trumpet  heard} 

Hark!  hither  comes  the  king;  so  says  the  trumpeter 
With  hard-blown  exclamations  of  his  horn. 
Win.     I'll  to  my  room. 
Chr.  Remain  with  me ; 

Not  in  a  torment,  but  in  smiling  o'er  it. 

(Enter  BOHANOC,  EDAMIA,  ATARAGON) 

Boh.     Is  this  a  place  where  the  creature's  corporal  iron 

Can  find  a  forge,  and  hammered  be  anew? 

Chr.     This  hut  hath  for  the  body  provender ; 

For  majesty  it  is  unqualified. 

Boh.     My  body  is  it,  and  the  spirit  too, 

That  groans  for  indolence.     There  is  a  hand 

Steals  the  indignant  savage  from  my  breast, 

And  with  its  shrinking  captive  awes  the  owner. 

Couch  me  where  angels  comfort.     The  old  ghost 


51 


Is  rampant  now,  and  shrieks  alive,  let  go 

Before  the  view  that  should  come  after  death — 

Processionals  of  souls  and  heavenly  wings, 

Or  drooping  deep  into  the  shades  of  Hell 

In  caravans  packed  with  perpetual  horrors. 

Edam,     Station  thyself,  huge  monarch;  stare  not  so. 

Inquire  within  thyself  what  ails  thee. 

Boh.     I  am  compact  of  all  that  ails  the  earth: 

Earth  dead  in  earth,  and  earth  more  than  alive. 

Edam.     Let  earth  rejoice  within  its  short  occasion, 

And  the  eternal  soul  not  mourn  how  short. 

Boh.    Earth  hath  a  soul,  and  I  have  mine.     It  suffers. 

I  know  it  when  it  suffers.     It  must  be. 

Some  cloud  has  borne  upon  me  where  is  marked 

The  coming  wound  of  destiny.     There  was 

A  time,  and  negligently  then,  and  oft, 

I'd  have  thrown  to  her  haunches  all-hazarding  Fate. 

Something  akin  to  fear,  a  smitten  sense, 

Moves  in  me  now,  and  casualizes  that 

It  once  o'ercame. 

Edam.  A  little  sleep,  my  lord, 

Would  be  more  virtuous  in  effect  than  these, 

The  tempers  of  a  sleepless  night. 

Boh.  In  sleep 

Is  matter  natural;  waking  is  abnormal. 

Aye !     Life  is  good,  but  not  to  look  upon. 

And  after  pride"s  horrisonous  bugle,  telling 

The  triumph  of  our  daylight  ownership, 

Humility  bends  o'er  the  heap  at  night, 

Hotchpot  of  antique  jewels,  broken  glories, 

Pomps,  purchases  and  gawds  of  majesty. 

From  these  to  sleep,  kissed  by  forgetfulness, 

Who  would  not  bed  himself?     Away!     With  war 

I  shall  not  play  today.     Death's  willing  angel 

Seducing  to  endearments  mortuary. 

A  tar.  Today, 

If,  in  well-spent  contention  passed,  will  be 

That  one  more  victory  that  pledges  peace. 

See,  I  have  come  to  welcome  Christopher 

To  battle  once  again,  favoring  thee 


52 


That  much. 

Boh.  There  will  be  time. 

I  shall  not  walk  the  path  of  wounds  today. 

A  tar.     What  is  it?     Thou  wast  never  idle  thus. 

Boh.     There  is  a  reason  past  all  reason;  we  are  now 

In  it.     Some  deep  subsultus  in  my  heart 

Pleads  me  to  stay.     Habitude  falters,  and,  perplexed, 

Gazes  about  for  warranty  of  motion. 

Atar.     This  is  the  very  bottom,  opposition 

And  other  end  of  opportunity. 

Edam.     Persuade  with  him  no  more.     He  is  not  well. 

All  the  congested  moods,  humidities 

And  previous  efforts  in  him  fight  for  air. 

He  is  fought  low;  and  writhing  in  his  sleep, 

Last  night,  cried  out,  "Unlucky  day  for  kings." 

His  hands  were  hot  as  Fever  Jack's,  and  wrestled 

In  cautious  hold  of  the  impalpable. 

Boh.     After  such  night,  I  should  not  tempt  the  day. 

Atar.     This  day  the  temple  stands  equivocal 

In  songs  of  life  or  death.     And  while  I  supplicate 

The  skies,  besiegers  beckon  me  to  fall. 

Boh.     Christopher  is  my  goodly  equal  for  you ; 

For  he  and  I  as  column  to  column  are, 

Supporting  the  frieze  and  sculptury  of  duty. 

Atar.     Where  is  your  duty  in  support  today? 

Edam.     Speak'st  thus  unto  the  king! 

Atar.     I  speak  with  reason.     Reason  hath  no  king. 

Edam..    Thou  hast  a  father  and  a  king.     Forget 

Not  first  the  duties  of  thine  own  employment. 

Atar.     If  I  forget,  my  memory's  underground. 

Edam.     With  epitaph  that  does  not  say  he  prodded 

A  man  in  the  back. 

Atar.  O  vain  step-mother, 

Thou  hast  another  careful  step  to  take 

Before  thou  couldst  side  with  a  daughter's  grief. 

Boh.     Peace,  all! 

What  else  is  or  is  not,  this  moment  is 

No  time  for  telling.     Bless  me!     Women's  words 

Are  the  alarms  and  piping  tunes  of  war. 

I  did  not  ask  for  music. 


53 


Atar.     Tell  me  of  music,  when  my  hearing  is 

A  chain  of  noises  winding  to  a  grave, 

With  funeral  thump.     O  that  inclusive  sorrow 

Once  called  Sebastian!     Hence  like  a  swan  away; 

Was  beautiful  agoing,  yet  was  ugly 

For  going  away.     So  went  the  beloved  bird, 

His  white  wings  wounded,  distance-dimmed,  untimely 

Through  the  horizon.     What  doth  purity 

Endure  for  not  enduring  things  impure! 

Boh.     Come,  over-mournful  daughter,  to  the  air, 

Where  Nature's  colors  may  heal  up  thine  eyes, 

Now  vexed  with  fluent  sorrow.     How  it  is 

That  sights  and  sadnesses,  from  the  same  socket 

Beneath  the  brow,  are  jointly  functioned  on. 

As  meaning  then:  to  see's  to  weep.     And  yet, 

To  weep's  to  see,  more  clearly  sometimes,  that 

Of  which  the  unwashed  eye  is  ignorant. 

(Exeunt  Bohanoc  and  Ataragon] 
Edam.     Ah,  yes.     Lash  out,  O  hamstrung  Pegasus, 
When  grief's  the  theme.     If  woman's  tears — a  thousand 
For  man's  each  separate  sin — could  wash 
His  murkiness  to  white,  man  glorified 
Would  be,  twice  o'er. 

(To  Winifred]     Angel,  attend  the  princess  with  some  perfume 
And  handkerchief.     And,  be  she  interested 
In  beauty,  tell  her  why  the  flowers  have  names, 
How  fine  the  squirrel's  wit  and  jollity, 
The  beetle's  wing,  the  robin's  periwig. 

Win.     Most  happily  I   go.     I  know  those  mysteries.         (Exit) 
Edam.     So  that's  your  gipsy,  fingering  a  harp. 
You  spoke  of  her  as  housewife  in  the  function 
Of  broom  and  broth  and  bowl  of  crocuses. 
Chr.     She's  all  around,  half  of  the  universe 
Made  female;  yet  what  universal  is 
We  cavil  in  selection. 
Edam.  High,  too  high, 

Above  the  glory  of  transcendent  woman, 
Hangs  thy  great  love.     Such  kindness  is  unkind 
Unto  the  possibilities  of  all. 
Chr.     Now  gleams  the  landscape  of  celestial  height; 


54 


Now  shudders  the  profound.     Laugh  with,  weep  with, 

As  to  forbear  and  see  this  as  this  is, 

Is  not  within  our  metal. 

Edam,  Not  in  thine, 

That  still  demanding  some  pledge  never  given, 

Holds  you  aloof,  in  spiritual  disdain, 

High,  hovering,  alone  above  the  lust. 

Lust  is  a  beast  that,  having  had  his  way, 

Becomes  a  man,  who  then  descries  in  scorn 

The  tawdry  sheets  where  he  bestowed  his  beasthood. 

A  man,  he  further  thinks,  becomes  an  angel 

To  view  the  woman  lying  there  all  human. 

Chr.     Human?     Of  that  I  long  to  learn.     Is  it 

To  say  "kind  sir"  to  every  commoner? 

What's  this?     A  woman  in  my  arms.     She's  mine. 

Oh,  no!     Not  mine.     Out  of  the  world  she  came, 

And  will  return.     It  is  a  tempting  heaven 

To  this  proud  angel  that  along  her  visits 

Makes  men  her  devils. 

Edam.     Thou,  with  thy  raging  fancies,  devilest  me. 

Mayhap  'twill  be  thou'lt  say  I  made  thee  devil. 

If  so,  then  say  it.     I  behold  thee  good. 

Chr.     Your  glance  is  like  the  augmented  sun  of  summer, 

Sending  its  golden  sickness  to  men's  brains. 

Edam.     Then  comes  the  sickest  summer  of  them  all ; 

In  the  despondency  of  best  intent. 

How  shall  I  now  begin?     Being  here,  have  I 

Come  to  the  flashing  climax  of  my  life, 

To  hesitate,  be  meek  and  to  return 

At  the  whisper  of  a  goblin  in  the  gloaming, 

By  some  called  conscience?     Who  would  be  a  queen, 

If  her  queenliest  wish  of  all  must  go  with  groundlings? 

Chr.     Heaven,  which  made  beauty,  made  thee  beautiful, 

And  knew  the  imperial  path  of  thy  adventure. 

Edam.     Thou  hast  a  sin  so  sweet  in  its  conceit 

That  even  virtue  could  not  sweeten  it. 

And  yet  there  is  a  human  interdict: 

Thou  may'st  not  look  on  all  that  Heaven  made. 

Chr.     So  say  we  in  the  forest  of  delight, 

Pulling  aside  the  branch,  then  letting  go, 


55 


To  shut  the  vision  from  our  passionate  eyes, 

While  near  it,  watchful  and  with  gorgeous  aim, 

The  soul  still  hankers. 

Edam.  For  whose  plunge  to  action, 

Our  life's  a  kingdom  of  excuses. 

Chr.     And  some  there  are  who  speak  with  hand  on  breast, 

Wreaking  up  nature  to  excite  it  more ; 

And  some  that  put  the  finger  to  the  brow, 

Rubbing  up  reason  to  the  council  of  war. 

Edam.     Verily,  reason  tells  us  what  is  fair; 

The  heart,  what  to  be  foully  sorry  for. 

Chr.    When  reason  rides  the  blood ;  aye ;  then  it  is 

Pale  rider  on  a  crimson  steed,  as  thus, 

To  try  conclusions,  round  and  round  they  go, 

Proving  which  is  greater,  horse  or  horsemanship. 

Yet  reason's  nothing  more  than  so  and  so, 

Controlling  action  that  it  does  not  know. 

Can  reason  thirst?     Can  it  kiss?     Has  it  arms 

Or  episode  or  anything  to  do? 

Or  can  it,  in  supreme  emergency, 

With  wings  in  mystic  flames,  go  to  outblaze 

Before  and  afterward? 

Edam.  There's  modesty, 

Landlubber  left  upon  a  sparkling  coast, 

Waiting  for  cargoes  by  bold  others  brought. 

Say  courage  is  not  ludicrous.     Praise  virtue, 

Extol  the  dawdling  maid,  endorse  the  sky, 

And  joggle  summer  clouds  for  fine  comparisons — 

Be  she  as  pale  as  pearl,  as  faint  as  twilight, 

So  rare  she  makes  a  lover  seem  profane, 

So  chaste  she  lights  Diana  out  o'  the  moon, 

She  will  not  equal  my  consideration. 

Chr.     Unseal  the  rose-jars  of  all  memory; 

Wander  where  censers  reek  with  fragrant  worship ; 

Seek  where  the  urns  of  inspiration  spill 

Their  most  entrancing  passion,  thine  is  more 

Than  any. 

Edam.     Though  praises  move  me  not,  they're  worth  a  parley; 

And  even  flattery  deserves  an  answer. 

What's  this  restraining  thing  that  says  we  may  not 


56 


Relate  the  tale  that  in  the  hopeful  breast, 

The  depth  and  very  shock-pit  of  the  bosom, 

Is  in  relation  most  elating?     What  is  there 

Estops  me  from  within  or  authorizes 

Injunction?     We  must  find  these  paths  ourselves, 

(Lost  in  the  storm  of  Do  blowing  on  Do  Not — 

As  wildered  thus)  flout  the  refulgent  priest, 

Heave  out  and  cry  through  Heaven's  corridors 

On  our  own  prestige,  hooked  responsibly 

With  wisdom,  say  I,  for  my  lurking  self. 

But  thou  that  thinkest  of  the  sin — 

Chr.     Sin  is  a  broken  word;  and  love,  a  broken  heart. 

Edam.     'Tis  better  to  sin  with  all  the  heart  than  suffer 

With  more  than  all.     Woe  for  that  hidden  place 

That  gasps  with  something  greater  than  itself 

And  sighs  without  response.     For  that,  who  loves 

With  all  the  heart  loves  with  a  broken  heart. 

It  is  too  weak  for  its  abundant  wishing. 

'Tis  only  half-heart  love  keeps  the  heart  whole. 

The  other  half  is  caution  in  control. 

Whole-heart  love  is  sick  heart;  half  heartedness, 

More  wholesome. 

Chr.  Never  in  his  pilgrimage 

Has  Time  bent  o'er  two  doting  heads  to  kiss 

Their  kisses  to  a  timelier  evermore, 

Nor  flashed  a  brighter  sun  to  solemnize 

The  first,  incredible  desire  desired, 

The  words  once  heard  and  never  heard  again, 

The  kiss  once  felt,  and  after  that  unknown, 

Save  in  their  progeny  of  words  and  kisses. 

Edam.     There's  only  one  first  kiss;  its  lightning  strikes 

Ne'er  in  that  place  again.     Not  now  again. 

Withhold  thyself.     I  have  for  thee  some  project 

(As  who  would  not,  when  thought  doth  follow  thought 

Upon  the  myriad  footsteps  and  the  meaning 

That  follows  meaning  out  of  sight)  some  purpose 

To  do  with  prudence,  and  that  soon,  if  ever. 

In  truth,  love  uses  a  miraculous  language; 

Meanwhile  its  base,  unmentioned  miracles 

Will  have  their  way.     What  is  this  heavenly  compact 


57 


When  two  inseparable  voices  meet 

For  comforting.     'Tis  breath,  'tis  words,  'tis  kisses, 

Making  a  ceremony  of  conditions 

Unceremonial.     Wring  me  not  now, 

Lest  the  expression  of  thy  lower  self 

Misleap  at  life  to  die  of  odium. 

(Re-enter  BOHANOC,  ATARAGON,  WINIFRED) 

Boh.  (to  Christopher}.     Heydey,  thou  consternation  of  the  strong, 

Be  acting  version  of  thy  king  today. 

Discord,  rise  like  a  maniac  o'er  his  banners; 

Victory,  go  headlong  over  his  pursuit; 

Come,  horrid  gods  of  war;  lend  him  your  lightnings; 

Make  his  glance  fatal  from  his  thunder-car. 

Chr.     Mingling  of  men  and  weapons.     It  is  when 

The  merchandisers  of  ferocity 

Bawl  out  their  wares  and  curse  the  purchasers. 

I'll  incommode  a  few.     And,  oh,  congenial 

While  this  frame  heaves  in  jarring  rhapsody 

The  arms  that  sway  in  equilibrium. 

Edam.     Have  care.     Such  courage  may  swing  out  too  far 

And  meet  the  worst  possessions  of  the  war. 

(Exit  Christopher] 

Boh.     I  deem  it  well  to  rest  my  sword  awhile. 
Life  is  a  trap  and  all  its  flesh  is  bait. 
Each  flower  has  a  demon  at  the  roots; 
Each  root  has  track  of  something  there  before. 
The  ground  has  combinations,  moving  snares, 
By  Fate  applied  for  man's  uncautious  treading. 
And  then  to  say,  by  doing  such  and  such, 
By  pulling  such  a  thread  or  following 
The  instinctive  byways  of  the  labyrinth, 
He  might  bring  demolition  to  his  shoulders 
Or  narrowly  evade  calamity, 

Make  the  charm  work  or  take  an  angel's  warning 
And  leave  the  trap  unsprung.     The  mind's  disaster 
Anticipates  the  crime  infernal ;  works 
A  thousand  outcomes  of  no  coming-out; 
Weakens  the  girders  of  the  neck;  then  hangs 


58 


The  head  unwatchful  in  the  crisis.     Faugh! 

Thus  I.     Go,  give  today  unto  its  lovers. 

And  hence!     For  I  am  weary;  let  me  sleep. 

Edam.     Then  fetch  his  body-guard  and  let  him  rest; 

For  he  will  rest  as  doth  befit  a  king. 


59 


ACT  V.    Same  room  in  Christopher's  house. 
KING  BOHANOC  lying  on  couch. 

BEELZEBUB  and  GREGORIUS. 

Eeel.     Salute  you,  Gregorius.     Is  my  king  asleep? 

Greg.     He  has  not  waked  since  you  left. 

Eeel.     Has  he  moved? 

Greg.    No. 

Eeel.     Have  the  flies  teased  him? 

Greg.     No. 

Eeel.     Not  one  fly? 

Greg.     No.     Silence,  you  swivel-eyed  image  of  darkness.     The 

king  sleeps;  has  slept;  and  not  anything  has  happened  to  make 

answer  not  No. 

Eeel.     That's  unfortunate,  because  when  I  was  here,  he  shimble- 

shambled   all   over  the  covers.     Twice  he  muddled  himself  in 

the  bed-curtains;  and  I  had  to  object.     He  was  like  a  king  with 

witches  and  wizards  at  him.     Consequently  I  thought  the  room 

was  full  of  little  ghosts.     I  could   almost  hear  them  go  chirp, 

chirp,  chirp.     I  could  hear  the  cat-woman  and  the  snake-lover 

and    the    grandmother   with    the    wolf-skin    bag.     Chirp,   chirp, 

chirp.     That's  their  persecution  when  they  swear  by  the  bat's 

wing  and  the  black  lamb's  wool  and  the  bleeding  tooth  and  the 

burnt  rag.     Sometimes   it's  the  howling  dog   and  the  cat  with 

the  skinned  rump  and  the  fire  on  the  ground.     The  king  heard 

it  too,   and  he  awoke;    and  he  peered   as  if  he  thought  I  was 

working  it  for  magic.     But  I  was   as  much  frightened   as  the 

king.     Fortunately  the  physician   left  a   large  vial  of  sleeping 

potion  for  such  opprobrium. 

Greg.     He  has  slept  ever  since. 

Eeel.     Then   I   proudly   say,   Very  good.     My  king   is   a   great 

king,  although  a  sleepy  king. 

Greg.     How  does  the  fighting  go  ? 

Eeel.     Very  bad.     If   I   am    bold    to    say,    very    bad,    indeed. 

Though  I'm  not  a  critic  of  tactics  and  body-cooling,  yet  when  I 

see   soldiers  killed   and   wounded   and   escaping,   I   should   pro- 


60 


nounce  it  very  bad  from  my  standpoint.  But  that  may  be,  as 
some  say,  a  matter  of  opinion,  or,  say  others,  a  question  of 
taste.  From  their  own  point,  all  may  be  well.  To  be  killed, 
wounded  and  escape  in  the  right  proportion  may  be  good 
battle.  Time  will  tell,  when  we  have  found  out  for  ourselves. 

(Enter  JOHN) 

John.     Good  day,  Gregorius.     The  animal 

Still  breathes  in  me;  and  that's  all  I  may  say 

Of  life  and  death,  without  recourse  to  theory. 

How  are  you,  gallant  figure  of  monarchy? 

Greg.     Impatient,  sir,   at  being  thus  remote 

From  those  that  struggle.     Still,  I've  had  my  times 

Of  battle,  and  I  like  it  not.     By  your  leave, 

I  must  refer  you  hence;  the  king  sleeps  here, 

And  privacy  maintains.    Leave,  I  adjure  you. 

Beel.     Yes,  we  must  conjure  you  up  to  leave. 

John.     I  did  not  know.     I  have  been  privileged  here 

With  Christopher,  my  almost  son.     God  help ! 

I  have  been  wretched.     Yesterday  at  noon, 

A  boyhood  friend  that  knew  me  in  my  prime, 

Finding  me  here  in  dolorous  retirement, 

Observing  the  white  crescent  of  my  hair, 

And  Time's  rendition  on  my  forehead, 

Quoth  he,  O  young  man,  how  old  you  have  grown. 

Pardon  the  violation  of  this  room. 

I  did  not  know.     I  did  not  know.     Adieu!  (Exit} 

Beel.    That  was  a  long  introduction  to  Adieu. 

Greg.     I    have   been   thinking  that  we   should   wake  the   king. 

Hark  to  that  windiness  of  shouts,  a  sound  that  heaps  up  anguish 

as  if  a  whole  army  were  in  pain. 

Reel.     It  sounds   like  our  men.     It  sounds   like   royal   anguish. 

No  scruffy  rebels  could  make  anguish  like  that. 

Greg.     I'll  see  what  it  is.  (Exit) 

Beel.     This  must  be  the  time  to  give  His  Majesty  the  sleeping 

potion  again.     He  might  look  to  me  to  be  asleep  through  and 

through,   but   not   from    a   medical    theory.     A   physician   could 

feel  by  the  pulse  if  the  sleep  is  not  satisfactory.     Heydy,  Your 

Majesty,  wake  up.     Hey  di  do.     Wake  up,  Majesty.     Wake  up 

and  take  your  sleeping  potion.     Four  times  four — wake  up.   The 


61 


physician  said  to  me,  "Beelzebub,  give  this  to  the  king."  And 
I  asked,  "What  is  it?"  "It  is  to  make  him  sleep,"  said  the 
physician.  And  I  asked,  "For  how  long?"  "For  an  hour,"  said 
the  physician.  And  I  said,  "It  might  do  for  an  ordinary  abdo 
men  an  hour,  but  it  will  not  make  a  king  sleep  for  an  hour." 
And  "we  will  take  advice  by  that,"  said  the  physician.  So  he 
made  it  stronger.  "I'd  have  done  it,"  said  I.  "I'd  have  done 
it,  because  a  king  deserves  more  than  a  common  show-man." 
I  didn"t  think  of  it  at  first;  and  the  best  of  it  is  I'm  assistant 
at  the  snake  festival.  I've  mixed  the  drugs  for  the  witches  and 
dancers,  and  I'd  have  done  it.  I'd  better  give  that  potion  be 
fore  Gregorius  comes ;  because  he's  ignorant  of  those  things. 
He's  a  whiffler.  Hello,  Your  Majesty.  Come,  come!  What's 
the  matter?  I  don't  know.  Surely,  wake  up.  I  can't  wake  him 
up.  Wake  up.  Shake  up.  What's  the  matter  with  him?  He's 
colder  than  I  thought  he  was.  He  doesn't  breathe  any  that  I 
can  tell.  I  can't  feel  his  heart  beat.  It's  not  beating.  What! 
Gregorius!  Gregorius!  He's  dead.  Oh!  He's  dead!  Oh! 
He's  dead!  Gregorius!  He's  dead!  He's  dead!  He's  dead! 
O,  Gregorius,  oh!  (Exit) 

(Re-enter  GREGORIUS  and  JOHN) 

Greg.     The  negro  says  he's  dead.     Come,  look  you,  sir. 

He's  cold.     For  God's  sake,  find  life,  if  you  can. 

John.     This  is  a  corpse,  Gregorius.     There's  no  king  here. 

There  is  no  current  blood  nor  interchange 

Of  living  values.     All  is  done. 

The  loving  attitude  and  viewing  eye 

Will  never  from  this  rampart  show  again. 

Go,  Gregorius. 

Summon  the  queen.     This  is  her  teardrops.     We 

May  stand  aghast;  hers  is  the  privilege 

To  mourn. 

Greg.     Stay  you  near  this,  Death's  masterpiece.  (Exit) 

(Enter  ABYMELIG) 

Abym.    What  ho! 

Are  there  no  eyeballs  reconnoitering  here 

To  see  for  me?     I've  staggered  near  the  battle, 


62 


Without  consent,  as  retribution  shouted 

For  more.     I've  grouped  through  murders,  thunders,  ghosts, 

Jostling  catastrophes;  everything  motive 

Has  passed  by  me  and  grazed  my  embraced  cheeks. 

Is  this  the  house  of  Christopher?     Speak,  ho! 

John.     It  is,  good  sir. 

Abym.  Where  can  I  rest  my  head? 

My  gorge  is  swollen  with  a  thousand  risings. 

Hark! 

Death  works  this  way.     Broad-winged  Astonishment 

Doth  hop  from  cloud  to  earth  and  earth  to  cloud. 

Fortune  of  War  is  drunk  and  laughing  full 

From  foe  to  foe,  and  shouts  indifferently. 

One  time  'twas  said  the  king  was  whelmed  from  the  field. 

John.     Hush,  man!     The  king  is  dead.     In  this  room's  air, 

His  once-proud  lungs,  not  now  participating 

With  us,  took  their  last  breathing.     Here  he  lies. 

Why  are  you  careful,  backward  in  your  steps, 

As  one  on  slippery  footing? 

Abym.     I  go  to  find  the  princess.     Fare  thee  well. 

It  was  reported  that  the  king  was  beaten. 

That  could  not  be,  if  no  king  were  alive. 

Died  he  of  wounds? 

John.  The  wound's  invisible. 

What  do  you  think  this  means? 

Abym.  Only  that  the  invisible 

Is  where  the  blind  and  seeing  meet  as  equals. 

Farewell.  (Exit  Abymelig} 

(Re-enter  GREGORIUS) 

Greg.     Make  way!     The  queen! 

Is  it  the  king  or  kingdom  that  is  dead? 

Now,  sir,  all  excellence  is  down.     Look  you. 

Our  haggled  hordes  go  slowly  round  the  hill. 

This  window  frames  a  picture  past  endurance. 

I  saw  the  princess  wavering  for  a  moment 

At  her  temple  door.     By  rebels  hedged  one  way, 

She  doffed  serenity,  and,  plucking  speed, 

Ran  like  a  hamadryad  through  the  woods, 

Thrilling  the  distance  with  her  flight. 


63 


John.     Saw  you  Abymelig  Insanely  smiling? 
Greg.     The  blind  man  looked  unutterable  things. 
And  blind  were  they  who  uttered  no  curse  on  him. 
John.     Hast  heard  of  Christopher,  my  brave,  brave  boy? 
Greg.     Whose  head  is  high  or  whose  hand  on  the  ground, 
I  have  not  heard.     Order  is  out.     All's  moving. 
Go,  now.     Here  is  the  queen  in  sceptered  sorrow. 

(Exit  John] 

(Enter  EDAMIA,  attended,  and  with  two  soldiers) 

Edam.     Something  was  loose  within  the  elements 

When  Bohanoc  breathed  out.     O  my  dead  mate! 

Was  thy  appearance  here  a  trick  of  Nature 

Played  upon  fools  to  make  their  eyes  boil  over 

With  frightful  waters? 

Where  is  the  king?     This  lump,  this  arrant  body, 

Has  been  a  hot  contrivance  of  the  sun; 

This  audible  and  majestic  circumstance 

Merely  a  ringing  in  our  ears,  a  fraud, 

And  here  lies  less  than  least  it  ever  was 

To  say  that  once  'twas  more  than  nothing. 

(Noise  heard) 

Greg.     While  time  allows,  let  us  conduct  you  hence, 
Pardoning  interference  with  your  grief. 
Edam.     Must  we  go  vulgarly  to  save  our  lives? 
Gregorius, 

When  time  allows,  find  his  physician. 
There  was  some  mischief  in  this  liquid  sleep. 

(Shouts  and  tumult  heard} 

Greg.    There  will  be  time.     'Tis  now  to  save  the  living. 
These  two  and  I  will  shield  your  thousands  graces 
Against  a  thousand  swords.     (To  soldiers)     D'ye  hold? 
Both  soldiers.     I  hold. 

Edam.     One  moment  let  me  eye  these  frozen  eyes. 
Deterred  by  gestures  of  derisive  Fate, 
Thou  liest  grim.     Go,  lofty  galleon, 
Thy  sails  with  empyrean  tempests  filled, 
Angels  around  thee,  like  the  white  sea-birds 
That  bring  the  ship  to  harbor. 


64 


(Enter  CHRISTOPHER) 

Greg.     Are  you  hurt? 

Edam.     Speak,  speak!       Cry  out! 

Chr.     Cry  out,  despicable  throat! 

It  came  too  soon,  that  which,  with  lowly  hands, 

Seizes  the  ankles  of  upflighted  victory. 

My  best  was  useless.     Gregorius,  I  am  weak. 

Ruin  appals  my  head.     Where  is  the  king? 

Edam.     In  sleep  and  fever,  dreams  and  death,  he  passed; 

And  naught  is  left  save  this,  his  few  days'  clay. 

Chr.     We  look,  and  that  which  must  be  here  is  not. 

Why,  fellow-sufferers,  I  believe  we're  made 

To  be  what  we  abhor,  or  be  hit  on  the  brow 

With  those  eternal  stones  we  cast  away 

In  childhood. 

Edam.     Should  I  be  what  I  was  and  nothing  more, 

I  should  be  less  at  this.     Now  I  am  queen  and  king. 

When  I  put  forth  my  dangerous  hand,  see  ye 

That  messages  like  falcons  fly  from  it. 

I'll  be  the  flatterer  of  your  bravery; 

Come,  Christopher,  thou  art  not  lacking  aim. 

Chr.     Wide  open  will  I  split  the  day  again. 

Edam.     And  what  is  won  is  thine. 

Chr.     Let  me  have  bread  and  a  little  wine. 

Edam.     Edamia  will  bring  thee  wine.  (Exit) 

Chr.     And  Bohanoc,  while  thou  art  not  thyself, 

Without  a  word,  deficient  in  all  ways, 

For  thee  and  for  thy  queen,  I'll  gather  up 

The  drifting  losses,  bear  the  prize  to  thee, 

Thou  heedless  owner  of  all  this  sovereignty. 

(Re-enter  EDAMIA) 

Edam.     Here's  crimson  ^drinking.     May  your  sword  so  drink. 
Chr.     Hail,  crimson  spirit  of  the  wine. 
I  drink  you,  drink  your  body,  wings  and  shaking  hair. 
Edam.     Thy  vision  now  is  foremost. 

(Exit  Christopher) 
(At  window) 

How  this  emblazoned  soldier  on  black  horse, 


65 


Whose  fast,  concurrent  hoofs  go  in  a  cloud, 

Resumes  his  wrath! 

A  woman  comes  this  way,  with  twofold  glances 

At  perils  on  both  sides.     Backward 

Also  she  recks,  and  does  more  looking  round 

Than  coming  on.     Gregorius,  unhatch 

The  door.     A  mournful  princess  enters  now. 

(Enter  ATARAGON) 

Atar.     Oh,  I  have  stumbled  full  knee-deep  in  dangers. 

Edam.     Gregorius,  there  is  a  company  of  men 

That  graze  that  hazy  hill.     Direct  them  hither. 

Greg.     With  speed.  (Exit) 

Edam.     Come,  now,  obstreperous  woman. 

I,  the  astrologer  of  thy  wicked  stars, 

Will  mark  the  spell  that  overrules  thy  soul, 

First  giving  thee  time  to  weep.     I've  lost  a  king; 

Thou  hast  a  father  lost. 

Atar.  Facetious  gods! 

Where  is  divinity? 

Edam.     See  how  he  lies: 

Concussion,  fire  and  all  reflection  gone. 

Atar.     O  cherished  one!     O  dearer  than  the  gods! 

Extensive  world  and  my  little  white  dove. 

The  circle  and  the  center  of  my  sight. 

What  can  be  said  of  this?     Of  all  the  shapes 

That  leapt  from  liberal  creation,  thou, 

King-father,  wert  most  noble  and  most  glorious. 

How  is  it,  by  existence  honored  up, 

And  thus  made  spurious? 

How  was  this  rich  one  pauperized  of  life? 

Edam.     Thou  gavest  poison. 

Atar.     Thou  art  a  liar  always;  lewd  in  speech. 

Edam.     His  poisoner  art  thou.     With  all  thy  whims, 

Devotions  undevout,  idolatries  and  songs, 

Religion,  politics  and  medicine, 

Thou  madest  sin  a  potent  livelihood ; 

And  hadst  our  honor  sink  in  superstition; 

Hate  ruled  from  the  towers,  and  love  left  the  doorways; 

The  day  became  a  shadow;  and  the  night 


66 

Fell  out  of  bed  with  terror. 

A  tar.  Oh,       oh,  my  soul ! 

Edam.     Oh,  oh,  and  oh! 

Now  thou'rt  a  cipher  that  cries  only  O. 

Atar.     Would  that  my  king  could  ope  and  utter  O. 

Edam.     Of  this  dark  liquid,  in  whose  compressed  hue 

Were  slumbers  for  a  hundred  nights,  the  drops 

Were  poured  uncountedly.     Behold  what's  left. 

Atar.     I  did  not  this. 

Edam.     But  thy  physicians,  knowing  well  thy  treason, 

Thy  lust  to  bear  a  bastard  government, 

Did  kill  this  country's  husband  for  your  passion; 

Presented  Bohanoc  to  earth.     Much  murdered 

Thy  father  was,  Ataragon.     And  now, 

All  they  who  touched  the  manner  of  his  death 

Must  do  communion  with  his  turning  pale. 

Two  days  hence,  thou  shalt  die,  ambitious  girl. 

Our  peace  requires  thy  body  for  cement 

Beneath  its  pedestal.     I  pity  thee — 

Nay,  part  of  thee — the  darling  womanhood 

That  dies  with  its  component  villainy. 

Atar.     Now  all  is  silent  in  the  world,  save  this, 

Become  a  wonder  'twixt  our  earth  and  Heaven. 

We  listen  till  we  seem  to  hear. 

Most  terrible  of  all,  no  terror's  mine. 

My  father's  body,  unbudged  at  hearing  this ! 

How  corpse  breeds  corpse!     Behold  thy  deathly  daughter. 

(Re-enter  CHRISTOPHER) 

Chr.    There  is  no  battle;  weapons  disappeared. 

The  rebel  chieftain  on  the  hill  I  met. 

Then  did  rebellion  spurt  its  liquid  rubies. 

Never  his  lips  will  snarl  at  us  again. 

As  mute  as  he,  his  henchmen  dropped  their  blades, 

As  if  they  had  been  chopped  all  at  the  stroke; 

Stood  for  a  moment,  and  then  fled  like  devils 

Turned  into  swine,  swilling  their  appetites 

For  the  far-off.     We  kill  no  fugitives. 

It's  better  that  they  run  than  fight  to  the  death. 

Edam.     Observe  him,  Heaven  with  applauding  thunder. 


67 

Atar.     Bereft,  unclouded  of  all  artifice, 

Me  now  behold,  great  Christopher. 

Chr.     Oft  have  I  thee  beheld,  Ataragon. 

Atar.    The  banquet  of  the  past  is  cleared  away; 

The  walls  are  broken,  and  the  castle  down. 

Proud  host  was  merely  guest  at  her  own  table. 

And  yet,  the  wandering  beggar  will  remember. 

Lame  penitence  will  trudge  back  to  the  music, 

Hear  tattling  echoes  of  a  bygone  love, 

Fancies  of  the  tinkling  umbrage  whence  she  came, 

And  calls  out  for  the  past  amid  the  ruins. 

Not  long,  O  Christopher,  have  I  to  live, 

And  drink  the  woeful  blood  of  dead  mistakes. 

I  am  condemned   (only  two  days  are  left, 

My  silver  brink  at  black  eternity) 

To  die. 

Edam.    This  is  a  careful-gusty  speech,  intending 

To  have  his  heart  beat  like  a  leprichaun. 

Chr.     (to    Edamia).     Is't    true    thou    art    to    prove  this  girl's 

mortality, 

One  stroke  imposing  for  all  the  strokes  of  time, 
That  hath  not  even  marred  the  creature  yet? 
Edam.    The  king  took  death  from  her  physician's  hand, 
Which  did  her  pleasure. 
Atar,  No;  not  that. 

Edam.    Her  friends  were  wantons,  mystics  and  magicians. 
What  was  a  king  to  them?     This  medicine, 
Not  to  allay  his  fever  but  abort 
The  king  himself  as  some  unwelcome  child 
From  out  our  wonder,  was.    There  is  he  dead. 
Atar.     My  guilt  was  not  of  guile  but  lack  of  it. 
I  birthed  these  wrongs,  that,  with  rebounding  hatred, 
Now  tear  the  mother.     There  was  one  crime  truly 
My  own,  whose  victim  never  stood  before  me 
Without  a  gift.     I  did  bewilder  him; 
And  still  his  wilderness,  plowed  up  with  cruelties, 
Yielded  the  flowers  of  patience;  thou  didst  love  me. 
Chr.     It  seems  not  long  ago  but  far  away 
In  some  land  for  a  moment  seen,  I  loved. 
Atar.     Sorrow  will  soothe  its  own;  desire  goes  out, 


68 

Leaving  pure  woman,  and  as  pure  as  this: 
Grief  could  not  make  more  pure  the  joyous  purity 
That  first  encountered  thee. 

(Enter  WINIFRED) 

Win.     No  one  has  come  for  me.     All  day  I  hid, 
Covering  me  with  straw,  near  Christopher's  cow, 
The  which  a  soldier  killed.     I've  been  afraid 
Since  morning. 

Edam.  The  eventful  hours 

Have  left  thee  far  and  frightened  in  the  past. 
The  king  being  dead,  Christopher,  made  of  kings, 
Having  set  the  royal  stamp  upon  his  foes, 
Is  now  the  conspicuous  prince  of  all  this  line; 
And,  by  my  holding  of  the  interval, 
Your  wifehood  is  decreed  at  end.     Estate 
Will  be  provided  you. 

Win.     Then  I  have  dealt  with  royal  interests; 
And,  though  uncareful,  I  have  learned  enough 
To  leave  with  royal  vigor.     This  perhaps 
Repairs  the  weakness  that  I  wept  this  morning. 
Farewell,  enchanted  husband;  such  you  were. 
Chr.     Sweet  moment  of  a  bitter  day,  farewell. 

(Exit  Winifred] 

Atar.     The  minutes  of  my  heart  are  numbering  out. 
With  all  my  heavenly  sins  I  trust  the  priest 
For  God's  perfecting;  and  the  earthly  crimes 
I  bring  to  thee  for  benediction. 

Could  I  to  Heaven  start,  slipping  through  thy  arms, 
And  hearing,  of  the  world's  last  noise,  thy  voice, 
Death  would  not  be  too  cruel,  Christopher. 
Edam.     She's  dangerous. 

For  the  moment,  chilled  with  the  aspect  of  her  downfall, 
She  weeps  repentantly.     Anon,  thawed  out, 
She'd  strike  at  foolish  hospitality. 
There  is  no  good  within  this  government 
Until  her  evil's  out.     Death  hastily  hers 
Must  be,  else  dead  is  all  supremacy. 
You've  conquered,  Christopher,  on  hill  and  heath. 
There's  jubilance  upon  our  armies  yonder. 


69 

Speak  to  Ataragon ;  then  to  your  bowmen.  (Exit) 

A  tar.     Thou  saidst  goodbye  to  one  wife;  take  another. 

Two  days  are  mine;  and  then  to  hear  at  last, 

"Goodbye,  my  wife."     Death  would  be  languid  only. 

Chr.     Would  it  not  be  a  heavenly  robbery, 

Taking  thee  thus,  bounding  in  at  the  end? 

Who  would  come  bursting  the  last  locks  of  life, 

Plundering  the  last  love's  honey  from  thy  cells, 

Ere  the  waxen  statue  is  dressed  for  Paradise? 

Atar.     How  deathly  dear,  pursuing  me  to  death, 

Departing  there;  I  pale  in  Heaven's  path; 

Thou,  warm  with  my  last  warmth,  to  life  returning. 

Chr.     It  is  malevolent. 

Atar.     I  am  not  frigid  yet  with  the  eternal  snows 

To  which  I  sink,  near  Bohanoc,  to  realms 

Where  lie  the  azure  corpses  of  the  past. 

(Enter  GREGORIUS) 

Greg.     My  lord,  the  queen  is  with  the  army,  which, 
And  multitudes  of  people,  call  you  king. 
Atar.     King?     Word  like  fortune's  eagle  in  the  sky. 
Chr.     If  I  be  king,  I'll  save  Ataragon. 

(Exeunt  Christopher  and  Gregorius) 
Atar.     New  life  arising.     Hope,  come  to  me,  hope. 
Come,  come.     Art  thou  a  cat,  that  will  not  come? 
Black  winds  I  hear,  like  moody  oxen  lowing. 
Falls,  falls  the  sky.     The  wild  goose,  dark  beneath, 
Floats  on  the  billowy  air  between  the  clouds, 
And  cries  for  cold.     Sad  is  the  ending  of  it. 

(Enter  two  soldiers) 

F.  Sold.     God  save  thee,  woman ;  close  thine  eyes. 

Atar.     What  roughness  moves  thee  to  this  tender  tone? 

F.  Sold.     We  are  thy  executioners. 

Atar.     Not  yet,  good  man;  I  have  two  days  to  live. 

F.  Sold.     Our  warrant  and  this  rope  do  not  say  that. 

Atar.     Where's  Christopher? 

S.  Sold.     Remember;  only  a  priest. 


70 

F.  Sold.     Only  a  priest  you  are  to  see.     (Throws  black  cloak 

over  her) 

Atar.     Not  on  my  head.     Good  friend,  not  yet.     Let  me 
Have  prayers,  and  then  I  shall  be  a  good  patient. 
Not  so  high. 

(They  strangle  her) 
F.  Sold.     She  was  to  have  a  priest. 

S.  Sold.     We'll  say  she  had;  and  who'll  know  whether  or  not? 
F.  Sold.     She  will,  if  for  this  loss  of  ceremony, 
She's  lost  and  goes  to  Hell  or  Purgatory. 

S.  Sold.     There  she'll  find  many  a  priest.     Fear  not  for  her. 
F.  Sold.     Then  come  away. 

S.  Sold.  Look  at  the  king.     Too  big! 

He  was  a  fighter  and  philosopher, 
Yet  could  not  understand  the  kittens  round  him, 
That  neither  fight  nor  think  and  still  they  thrive. 

(Enter  EDAMIA,  CHRISTOPHER  and  attendants) 

Chr.    What  damnable  exposure  is  there  here? 

Another  beautiful  spot  abandoned  suddenly 

By  Nature. 

Edam.     Love  used  the  sword  of  justice  for  this  deed. 

(Exeunt  soldiers) 
Chr.     How  the  times  do  rot! 
Edam.  Think  well  of  this. 

Chr.     Option   reduced  to  wonder!     Wonder's  nothing. 
What  things  have  been  that  we  have  looked  upon. 
Storm-tossed,  we  two,  mid  stormy  leavings,  rise 
For  mutual  sight.     These  two  are  dead,  and  we 
Are  living.     Life  is  this,  and  death  is  that. 
To  this  there  is  no  that;  to  that,  no  this. 
Edam.     There  is  too  much  of  heaviness  about. 
Remove  these  broken  darlings.     Let  the  king 
Be  waked  nine  days;  for  him  be  built  a  hill, 
That  in  it  he  be  buried  standing  up 
In  all  the  metal,  housings,  warlike  objects 
And  representation  of,  glory.     For  the  princess 
(Rid  as  she  was  by  weeping  necessity) 
Let  three  days  observation  hold.     Proceed. 


71 


(Exeunt  attendants  ivith  bodies  of  Bohanoc  and  Ataragon] 
Chr.    Life  is  debauchery  in  sight  of  death ; 
The  more  voluptuous  the  more  abominable. 
Thus  I,  a  scoundrel  for  being  now  alive, 
Embrace  thee  to  a  sacrificial  sin, 
Or  mystic  revel.     All  the  mournful  instincts 
Would  make  their  manner  known  in  hottest  flesh. 
Thou  too  art  grieving  fiercely  and  with  passion, 
Love-glancing  here,  scarce  risen  from  the  slain, 
Perfumed  thy  lips  and  raiment,  sumptuous  mourner, 
Layest  thou  thy  guilty  bosom  in  my  arms. 
Edam.     Guilty?     God,  gavest  thou  another  curse, 
To  hear,  in  the  sublimity  of  love, 
The  hideous  word?     Or,  filled  with  poison,  too, 
Do  I  now  hear  distortion  in  my  blood 
And  not  my  lover  whispering  to  me,  "Guilty." 
Chr.     'Tis  guilty  to  do  anything,  and  still  more  guilt 
In  doing  it  well. 

Edam.  Go  thou  unto  a  deeper  Hell 

Than  e'er  was  known  to  any. 
Chr.     Forgive  this  tumbled  and  excited  soul 
That  it  called  quietude  a  sin. 
Thine  are  the  folding  and  retentive  arms 
That  beautify  the  journey  and  the  ending, 
And  touch  the  weary  head  with  such  desire 
As  charms  away  the  weapons;  hallows  the  shield; 
Puts  garlands  on  regret;  makes,  of  known  places, 
All  others  war,  and  this,  tranquility. 
Edam.     O  thou!     Go  not  but  come.     Come  to  this  hell, 
My  heart,  which  you  have  made  infernal. 
I  was  thy  constant  servant,  Christopher; 
And  with  these  hands  did  bicker  the  hands  of  Fate, 
When  haggard  Mercy  could  not  bear  the  sight. 
'Twas  I  that  sent  Gregorius  to  attend  thee 
And  bade  him  stave  Sebastian.    Thee  I  watched. 
Thou  art  alive! 

And  death  was  indiscriminate  here  awhile. 
Thou  art  alive.     Thy  nostrils  can  yet  quiver. 
Thy  arm  is  widest  now;  and  head,  the  proudest. 
Thy  cheeks  are  castless  where  the  raging  storms 


72 


Recoil  in  music;  thy  hair,  earth's  glorious  banner 

To  me ;  thy  mouth,  the  world  communicative. 

Chr.     Edamia's  lips! 

Soft,  crimson  leeches  clinging  to  my  own. 

Lifts  now  the  impending  darkness,  and  obstruction 

Goes  like  the  Gates  of  Gazza. 

(Enter  GREGORIUS  and  ABYMELIG) 

Greg.     Here  is  one  that  with  a  material  message, 

Begs  audience  of  the  queen. 

Edam.  Abymelig,  what  would  you? 

Abym.     I  have  official  emblems,  documents, 

Records  and  mysteries  of  the  Holy  Temple; 

The  which — Ataragon  no  more — 'tis  meet 

I  leave  in  your  empowered  hands ;  yet  humbly 

Request  that  in  the  public  use  thereof, 

Respect  be  of  the  reverence  once  there. 

Edam.     Take  them,  Gregorius. 

Abym.     Behold!      (Stabs  her) 

And  Devil  take  your  unproductive  bones. 

Chr.     Cur   of    eternity!     Burst,    burst,    thou    cur!        (Strangles 

Abymelig  and  casts  him  down) 

Edam.     Long  wishes  meet  the  precious  hour  too  late. 
Chr.     There  is  no  death  until  Edamia  dies. 

Edam.     Farewell,  my  world,  and  in  it  Christopher.         (Dies) 
Chr.     Farewell,  inducements  and  things  clutchable. 
Edamia,  Edamia,  is  that  all? 

Greg.     Come,  my  lord ;  these  are  all  of  yesterday. 
Sit  not  with  them,  or  madness  will  sit  with  thee. 
Chr.     Gregorius,  come  not  near;  I'm  spelled  with  death; 
The  cloudiness  of  it  is  catching  all. 
All  they  that  love  me  and  that  hate  do  die. 
Death,  how  thou  followest  me! 
Greg.     Ah,  dying  is  the  soldier's  pleasure.     Hear! 
They  call  another  Bohanoc.     They  call  you. 
Chr.    They  call?     Who  call?     And  who  is  called? 
What's  place  to  place  to  be  thus  called  and  answering? 
Is  this  where  I  stood  yesterday? 
Where  are  the  fickle  shapes  warmed  into  life 


73 


Merely  to  frighten  with  departures  cold? 

Who  would  have  thought  the  material  so  untrue? 

'Twas  misarranged,  or  ill-observed.     Nathless, 

The  scene  is  gone;  the  walls  are  decomposed. 

On  yonder  hillsides,  built  for  disappointment, 

Are  castles  gray,  transcendent  window-squares, 

Banners  mist-laden,  granite  piled  on  granite 

Abrupt  from  earth  to  sky-ascending  gloom. 

Greg.     You  lost  superbly.     Let  him  say  as  much 

Who  wins.     The  loss  exalts;  the  gain  degrades. 

Fate  sought  thee  for  distinction,  singled  thee 

With  flaming  sorrows,  like  a  central  sun; 

And  scorched  were  they  who  dared  approach  too  near. 

My  lord,  this  door  now  opens  unto  duty. 

Let  fall  the  man,  and  walk  abroad  the  king. 

Chr.     As  such  awhile,  in  darkness  round  our  throne, 

I'll  wear  the  ebony  crown,  and  mourn  alone. 


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